Summer Update XIV - Hartman Rocks

On my final day in Gunnison I hiked out to the Hartman Rocks, a series of granitic outcrops not far from town. Popular with offroaders, hikers and mountain bikers, the Rocks contain about 60 miles of trail and dirt road. Riders are restricted to the marked trails, but those on foot are essentially free to go where they please. Obviously very appealing for someone like me!

I rose early in the morning, knowing that I had to hoof the six miles or so along the highway to the Rocks. I considered hitchhiking, but I thought I'd save the karma for later in the day when I'd be tired and in need of a lift.

To get to the Rocks you have to leave the road and follow a dirt path up a slope to a crumpled hilltop. From there you are offered a great view of the Gunnison area, and you can very plainly see the artificial greenery of agriculture nestled amidst the browns and greys of the surrounding hills.

On the far side, it is like you have crossed to the surface of another world. A literal ocean of sage extends to the horizon, unbroken save for rolling hillocks and strange shaped rocks. Hawks circle, and wind carries with it the dry and slightly sweet scent of the high desert.

As a hiker, your plan is simple: pick a direction that seems interesting and start walking. So I did just that, spending happy few hours just wandering wherever caught my fancy.

As the day wore on I decided to seek out the Hartman Rocks themselves, so I climbed a hill to get my bearings. A cluster of the Rocks huddled on the horizon, and after a brief break I struck out for them.

The distance proved deceptive, and what seemed like only a mile or so from the hilltop turned out to be easily twice that. I stomped through the heat and the dust, and out of the corner of my eye a shadow flickered near the sun. I stopped, and just at that moment the circling hawk stooped for the kill and hit the dirt. He emerged a few moments later, carrying a squirming rodent of some sort and flying away with his prize. His triumphant shriek drifted in the hot air of midday, and I couldn't help but grin.

A short time later, I made it to the Rocks. They were magnificent, bands of colour shimmering in the sunlight and giving voice to the wind as it whistled through the spires.

A series of trails lead from their base, and I chose one at random and followed it. The rocks became stranger and more spectacular, more looming out of the earth at every turn.

At one outcrop I diverted from the path and scrambled to the top. All around me stretched a veritable fortress of stone, with plumes of dust rising from the handful of dirtbikes snarling along the distant tracks.

The day was sliding into late afternoon, but the heat was relentless. I decided to return at sunset, so I climbed down and headed to the trailhead to top up my water and get some relief from the ferocious sun. I studied my map and later in the evening set out on a new route that took me to the far side of the outcropping I had climbed, offering me the best views of the plain below.

As I walked, the long light of the setting sun brilliantly illuminated the scattered groves of trees huddling in the shadow of the Rocks. I climbed up to my perch, and settled down to wait for the sun to slide below the horizon. The view was sublime, and as I sat there I reflected and wrote about all I had experienced over the last few weeks...

Am I any closer to understanding this strange and fascinating country? Perhaps. If nothing else, this trip has shown me that America is as complex and exotic as you want it to be. I think it is easy for an outsider to be cynical about this place, to oversimplify, to see only the bad and discount the good as mere contrivance. What I have experienced over the past three weeks, however, suggests otherwise. Everything from the grandeur of Chicago to the warmth of small town Colorado has convinced me that for all its flaws and missteps on the global stage, there remains so much that is worthy and admirable about America, and Americans. I think the world would do well to keep that in mind.

Summer Update XIII - Gunnison Hills

At the end of my course I bade farewell to Crested Butte and headed back down to Gunnison. I had two days to kill before bussing back to Vancouver via Denver, so I decided to try and squeeze in some more hiking. The hills outside of town had caught my eye, but as far as I knew there were no formal trails out to where I wanted to go. I asked around and was told that you could access the hills through a ranch at their base. I thought that sounded good, so I loaded up my pack and set out.

I found the ranch without much difficulty - in a town of 6,000 people there are only so many roads - and before long I was tramping through the long grass of the pasture. The morning was dark and gloomy, with brooding clouds battling with an occasional patch of clear sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance but thankfully the rain held off until later in the day.

My initial attempt to get to the hills was thwarted by the creek that ran at their base, separating them from the grazing lands. It wasn't especially deep, or wide, but given the amount of livestock in the area I wasn't too keen on wading across it. I decided to follow its path and see if there was a bridge or other means of fording it.

Sure enough, after about an hour I came to a space where I was able to hop across a sunken log and some scattered rocks, and from there it was an easy walk to the hills. Once outside the irrigated ranchland the true face of central Colorado revealed itself: dry, dusty, and covered in a sea of sage. Jackrabbits bounded away at my approach, and every so often I would catch a glimpse of a snake vanishing into the scrub.

The view from the top was bleak but beautiful. Miles of scrubland stretched out under a glowering sky, and in the distance the hills transitioned to the massive towers of the Rockies. Lightning flickered on the horizon and soon enough it began to pour, so after a time I hunkered down in my coat and made my way back to Gunnison.

I made it back to the hostel just before dusk, and by that time the rain had stopped. In its place appeared a series of brilliant rainbows, but sadly no double rainbows. A good end to a good day.

Summer Update XII - WFR

The Wilderness First Responder course was an excellent introduction to the grey area between first aid and emergency medical care when dealing with injuries out in the bush. Over the course of the week we learned a variety of skills, such how to pop dislocated shoulders back into place, apply traction to fractured bones, and administer medication for anaphylaxis. Equally important was developing our situational judgement - when is a situation an emergency? When is a swift and potentially dangerous evacuation warranted? How will you deal with multiple casualties in a backcountry setting?

The course was challenging and informative, and I am very glad I took it. It underlined how even relatively minor injuries can have grave consequences when you are far from help. I cringe when I think of all the things that could go wrong in Nahanni, but I suppose that makes it all the more important that I have this training. My experience as a lifeguard is little more than a distant memory, so it felt great to refresh and expand my skills. Luckily Wayne and Bhreagh also have WFR training, so if something goes wrong I won't be the only one out there.

Summer Update XI - Slate River Valley

After climbing Crested Butte my curiousity was piqued: what lay further down the valley? Mitch told me that a network of trails along the Slate River were very popular with the locals, so I decided to go have a look.

I followed one of the roads heading out of town to the trailhead, and from there I set off into the forest. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself wandering through a stand of birch trees - while they didn't have quite the same ghostly beauty as the birch groves of Nahanni, they were still a very welcome sight for sore eyes.

Soon enough the trail moved out of the forest and down alongside the river. Ocassionally I encountered mountain bikers or other hikers, but for the most part I was alone. The day began to cloud over, but the temperature was pleasant and the air was alive with birdsong.

I also noticed some of the wildflowers Crested Butte is famous for. I never did learn their names, but they were very pretty.



I walked for a few hours down the trail, but turned back fairly early. The course started the next day, and there was still a lot of studying to be done!

Summer Update X - Climbing Crested Butte

As in Nahanni, the mountain is what dominates life in Crested Butte. The horn of its summit stabs the sky at 12,162ft and boats some world-class ski terrain. I had a day or so before beginning my course, so I decided to go climb it and see what was up there.

The town of Crested Butte is strange in that it is actually three seperate mini-communities: Crested Butte South, Crested Butte and Mt. Crested Butte. I was staying in Crested Butte, and so to get to the trail I walked three miles up the highway to the ski village, and from there I had access to the mountain proper. I left early in the morning and was gifted with some gorgeous views up the Slate River Valley.


Once at the ski village, I had a choice: either walk the full 6 mile trail to the summit or take the Silver Queen chairlift up part of the way. I was feeling ambitious so I decided to just hoof it up to the top - which wasn't the best decision, as I soon found out.

The 'trail' for the first portion was actually just the access road servicing the lifts. The climb wasn't especially difficult, but it was boring. Also, as the sun rose higher in the sky I felt very exposed. At that altitude the sun's intensity becomes fierce indeed, and I topped up my sunscreen regularly. I didn't get too badly burnt, but even still it wasn't especially pleasant to constantly feel your skin frying.



Finally, having made it to the chair life station the road ended and the real summit trail began. Only 1.3 miles long, it rivals the Grouse Grind in terms of its steepness but transitions from dirt track to open slopes quite quickly, making for a far more interesting and enjoyable climb.



The final push to the summit is along a sharp ridge of jumbled rock. The footing was tricky enough that you keep your head down and carefully plan your route - even still, it was always disconcerting to see rocks slide away and tumble down into the valley below!


I was so busy watching my feet that I was at the top before I knew it. I was gratified to find that I was the first to the summit that day, so I enjoyed a few minutes of solitude and soaked in the hard sunlight and stunning vistas.





After a while some other climbers joined me, and we chatted briefly. Apparently in former years the trail ran right up the rocky bowl rather than looping along the knife-edge of the ridge. While still very steep, it was thought that the route was the less treacherous of the two. One day, though, a climber disloged a rock that tumbled downhill and killed another climber below him - a sobering thought, and something to keep in mind as I began my descent.

Summer Update IX - Crested Butte

It is amazing the difference a few miles can make. As you head north from Gunnison the arid hills are replaced by verdant alpine slopes and swift flowing rivers, and the temperature noticably drops. The road climbs through the valley until finally you emerge at Crested Butte, a beautiful little ski town that sits at an elevation of about 10,000ft. For someone like me, who has grown up at sea level, the change was noticable. On my first day I felt lethargic and irritable, with a mild headache. I later learned that the town sees one or two deaths a year from altitude sickness.

The town itself was quaint, if somewhat touristy. With it being the end of the summer the streets were very quiet, with only the locals and a few mountain bikers ambling about. I quickly discovered that CB is home to perhaps the best burrioto joint in the state, and Teocali Tamale became a regular haunt of mine.

Couchsurfing again proved my salvation, and for the duration of the course I was able to stay with Mitch, one of the local EMTs/ski patrollers. We had some excellent conversations, and it was great fun hanging out with him and his son Matt.

Summer Update VIII - Gunnison

With the start of my WFR course fast approaching, I reluctantly said goodbye to Denver and headed down to Gunnison. Nestled in the heart of its namesake valley, it proved to be a charming town of about 6,000 people. The course was being run out of Crested Butte, a local ski resort about 30 miles away, so I spent the night in a local hostel before hopping on the free shuttle bus the next morning.

To fill the evening hours I went for a walk, and wandered about to see what I could find. Dusk was settling in, and the long light draped shadows over the rolling hills to the south.

Music and commotion drew me to the main street, and I rounded to corner to find a car show underway. I don't think you could have found a more vibrant slice of Americana if you tried; the pavement was dominated by hundreds of Fords, Chryslers, Chevrolets and others, and everywhere you looked you saw happy families from across Colorado and the neighbouring states out promenading and enjoying the evening. There was live music [playing such favourites as 'My Trailer Park Angel'] and line dancing, and more than a few stalls providing free ice cream.

The whole atmosphere was very wholesome and hummed with a sort of exuberant innocence. As I walked around I encountered people who had never left Colorado, let alone the USA, but far from being the insular and ignorant hillbillies the world loves to mock from afar they were without exception some of the kindest, most welcoming people I have ever met.