The Colorado Trail
Words by Doug Freed, pictures by Doug Freed and Wayne Anderson
The jump from reality to Hollywood movie is easy to imagine. The cast of disparate characters get thrown together on a quest: Nemo, Notepad, Chipmunk, Origami, Bristlecone, M&M, Cheeky, Professor, Tazzie, B3PO, Poley. Young and old, from around the country and world, they face obstacles and trials. The journey is long, adventures abound, experiences are shared. A hero’s journey script unfolds, ending in the characters arriving back home forever changed and bonded together by the shared experience.
It’s a movie you might want to see, or better yet, live it out in your own way.
The journey in this case was the Colorado Trail, 486 miles from south Denver to Durango (567 miles including the Collegiate Peaks West portion). A trail with nearly 90,000 feet of elevation gain, a trail crossing eight mountain ranges while winding through five designated wilderness areas, a trail that showcases the best of Colorado and reminds even the most jaded of old-timer Colorado natives that there remain forgotten, untrammeled and empty expanses of beauty in our beloved state.
The Colorado Trail has lurked in the corners of my world since befriending Craig Gaskill in 1977. His mother, Gudy, is the Mother of the Colorado Trail and undeniably the person most responsible for the construction and completion of this national treasure. Because of my proximity to the Gaskill family, the trail was for decades a frequent topic of conversation, something on which Gudy tirelessly worked, a bona fide labor of love. As time moved along, more and more of my acquaintances started hiking the trail. Some finished in sections over several years, some became through-hikers and finished in weeks. It became increasingly obvious to me that it was my turn. I had to hike the trail in some form or fashion to honor my home state and tip my hat to Gudy Gaskill, a most remarkable woman I am grateful to have known. When I retired in May of 2022, I ran out of excuses. On July 16, 2023, I put on my backpack in the parking lot of the Waterton Canyon trailhead south of Denver and started my walk to Durango.
Nothing in the modern mind is prepared to fully grasp walking almost 500 miles from point A to point B. Modern people drive or fly. Nobody spends five weeks getting anywhere. Consequently, the start of a 500-mile hike feels like the start of any other hike. In my case I was joined by my old pal David Siple who joined me for the first six miles up Waterton Canyon. I am grateful to Dave for the send-off and the distraction while walking those first few hours. Without his company I suspect the enormity of the task ahead may well have filled me with jitters. As it was, we enjoyed a rousing conversation that propelled me along as the road became single-track and started gaining elevation on the way to my first planned camp at Bear Creek, 8.7 miles from the parking lot.
I arrived at Bear Creek about 1 p.m. – lunch time, not a time to set up camp. There I found Wayne Anderson, age 59, from Charlotte, North Carolina. We chatted, agreed it was too early to camp and decided to hike together another eight miles to the South Platte River and the end of segment one. The first friendship was forged. Wayne became the co-star of my CT movie. We would go on to hike together far more than not over the next 35 days, two recent retirees walking a trail looking for things unknown and finding a great friend with whom to share the experience.
The first few sections from Denver southbound take a heavy toll on prospective through-hikers. While not entirely sure of how many people started on July 16, we tallied those we knew of and figured the attrition rate to be roughly 30% in those first few days. Heat, hills, blisters and homesickness take a toll as hikers and bikers and horsemen leave the trail. Some return, most do not.
Those who remain divide themselves and group up according to pace. Hikers on the trail average anywhere from about 10 miles a day to more than 20 miles a day. Anderson and I were in the comparatively modest 14- to 15-mile-a-day category. To achieve those miles, we typically had to walk all day, leaving camp between 7 and 8 a.m., arriving at the next camp between 4 and 6 p.m. Like the tortoise and the tortoise, we plodded along and somehow kept making camp with the 20-something-year-old hares who hiked far faster, but took more breaks. Thus was formed our first trail family, the loose configuration of folks who hike and camp together on the trail. This particular family stayed together for about five days before the young folks found their trail legs and left the tortoise and the tortoise behind. They departed from Kenosha Pass with a bounce in their step, but not before bestowing upon me my trail name: Professor – a compliment, a reminder not to talk so much, or both. I adopted the trail name sheepishly and with apologies to all the real professors out there. I grew fond of those young folks and pleased they seemed to enjoy our company, so I also wore the moniker with a sense of pride.
The CT is divided in 28 sections with trailheads on either end to allow for section hiking. The first five sections from Waterton Canyon to Kenosha Pass are marked by Front Range summer heat and steady elevation gain from the 5,500-foot trailhead to Kenosha Pass at 9,969 feet. Section 2 in particular is hot and dry as it passes through the Hayman Fire area and is devoid of shade. Hikers finishing this section gather in the sparse shade of a volunteer fire house where hikers are able to use the outdoor water spigot. I shudder to think of what would happen to hikers without this emergency water source. Beyond is the Lost Creek Wilderness area, remarkable not only for its underground creeks, but also its pristine natural setting so close to the Denver metropolitan area. Nearing Kenosha Pass, hikers can look west to Georgia Pass, the Continental Divide and the knowledge that the trail soon will be wending its way through the high peaks for which Colorado is most famous.
The weight of a through-hike pack can be the difference between pleasant walking and abject misery. On the flip side, leaving something you need at home also can lead to discomfort. All hikers make their own calculations. I started with an ultra-light tent, a single-wall shelter that weighed a scant 1.5 pounds. By trip’s end I had traded it in for my trusty old North Face tent that tips the scales at a whopping (by through-hiker standards) four pounds. I got tired of the condensation inherent in single-wall tents and I didn’t fully trust the tent to withstand anything more than a moderate storm. I also added a sleeping bag liner – nearly one more pound – because at high altitudes I wasn’t sleeping as warm as I’d like. In a world where a pack base weight (no food or water) of 20-pounds is common, adding 3.5 pounds (more than 17 percent) is heresy to some. For me it was well worth it, especially during the last five days of my hike when we got hammered by frequent heavy rains. Even with the added weight, I don’t think my pack ever exceeded a total of 35 pounds, including a stretch of seven days between resupply that also required carrying extra water.
Additional weight for me was bear spray and a large bear vault for my food. Bear vaults are fairly common, but I was the rare bear spray packer. If hikers aren’t carrying a vault for food, they carry an Ursack, a kevlar bag that gets tied to a tree at night. Bears can’t get at the food to eat it, but I heard of two instances where bears completely smashed what was in the bag while trying to get at the food. There are plenty of bears that live in Colorado and generally do what they want. I have been chased out of camp by a bear and thus consider bear spray and vault worth the weight. Bears are rarely a problem, but if a bear becomes a problem, it can be a serious problem.
The tortoise and the tortoise split at Kenosha Pass as Anderson ventured in to the town of Fairplay to attend to some foot problems. I plodded on alone and noticed that most hikers were bunching up and planning a zero day (no hiking) in Breckenridge. I planned to meet a friend at U.S. Highway 9 who would join me for the hike to Copper Mountain. Alex Greenhalgh, from Utah, picked a good section of trail to hike. The view from the top of the Ten Mile Range between Breckenridge and Copper Mountain is worth the effort. It was here that the tortoise and tortoise were briefly reunited, before splitting up again for a few days in Copper Mountain.
At Copper Mountain, as at Kenosha Pass, I was met by my wife, Shannon, with a resupply box. Having off-trail support greatly simplifies any through-hike, and my support was exemplary. Shannon not only made sure I got resupply boxes and a place to stay, she made sure friends found me that were meeting me to hike various segments of the trail. I slept in a hotel bed in Summit County, ate some food that was not dehydrated, and the next morning met the aforementioned Craig Gaskill, who joined me at Copper Mountain for the walk to Twin Lakes. I’ve shared many a hiking trail with Gaskill, but we don’t generally hike together – I’ve never been able to keep up with him. That doesn’t interfere, however, as he hikes his hike (generally climbing some peaks along the way) and I hike my hike and we meet in camp for the good company.
At historic Camp Hale, near Leadville, I was surprised to hear sudden shouts of, “Professssorrrr.” Anderson was there with a new trail family of Chipmunk, Origami and Cozy Moses. While they all were heading to Leadville to resupply and Craig and I were headed to Twin Lakes, Chipmunk and Origami would later reunite with us and become important members of our trail family.
Our hosts in Twin Lakes were Dave and Mary Jo Wheeler who had my resupply box and welcomed us to their cabin for the night. By Twin Lakes, it was my turn to have some foot problems. Some minor blisters were causing some pain as were some issues with my toes. Almost nobody hikes 486 miles without developing some sort of foot issue along the way. I was lucky, some minor doctoring and fiddling with my boots seemed to resolve my foot pain. I was on my way again the next morning, this time alone.
The Colorado Trail is known the world over. Among hikers I met on the trail, one was from Ireland, one from Italy, one from Denmark and one from Tasmania, not to mention hikers from all across the U.S. Official statistics from the 2022 season show that 454 people reported finishing the trail. Hikers last year hailed from 10 different countries and 48 different states. I predict these numbers will continue to grow with each passing year.
The Colorado Trail splits at Twin Lakes. One trail traverses the Collegiate Range to the east, the other on the west side. I chose east as it is the original trail, the west having been added after the Colorado Trail Foundation adopted the Continental Divide Trail. Hiking alone has its advantages. Pace is never an issue as one hikes just as quickly or slowly as one wants. There is real enjoyment in this. Water and campsites are relatively plentiful in the Collegiate Peaks, so the solo hiker has flexibility in deciding the day’s mileage. I surprised myself by hiking longer days than originally planned. When alone, being in camp is less appealing than staying on the trail. After a 17-mile day and a 19-mile day, I was in position to reach my next resupply point, the Monarch Spur RV Park, with enough time to take my first real zero day. No hiking, just rest. I originally had not planned to take any zero days, only “near-o” days (low mileage days), but after 18 straight days of hiking, my nearly 64-year-old legs were in need of a rest. Super supporter Shannon was able to rent a tiny cabin at the RV resort where she met me with resupply needs and some fresh food. Anderson was able to reach me via text from the trail. When I told him we had a cabin with an extra bed, he pulled off a 21-mile day to meet us there.
The second half of the CT begins at U.S. Highway 50. Section 15 generally follows South Fooses Creek to gain roughly 3,000 feet to the Continental Divide. This pleasant trail is marked by hordes of mountain bikers riding down the trail from the Monarch Crest trail. Beware, hikers. Not all riders understand that cyclists are supposed to yield to hikers. Later, toward Marshall Pass, hikers, horses, cyclists and motorcycles are all allowed on the same trail. Inevitable conflicts arise with this sort of mixed use. Horses, cyclists and motorcycles don’t always peacefully coexist. While the motorcycle riders we encountered all were polite enough, they caused trouble for a traveler on horseback and are severely tearing up the trail. While I’m sure there is pressure to allow all groups access to the trail, the trail is being heavily degraded by motorcycles from Marshall Pass to Colo. Highway 114.
This stretch of trail is also marked by long stretches without water. Here the hiker will do well to carry extra water or have some alternate plans. We were lucky. Gaskill joined us again at Monarch Crest and arranged to be picked up by a mutual friend at Colo. Highway 114. That friend, Richard Hayward, brought water. At the Saugache Park Road, the start of Section 19, trail angels awaited with tasty grilled cheese sandwiches, trail treats and 50 gallons of water to share. We filled water bottles knowing we had only another 10 miles to Cochetopa Creek and abundant water once again. From there we were on to Eddiesville and the start of Section 20 where we returned to the spectacular high peaks of the La Garita Wilderness and the start of the sensational San Juan Mountains of southwest Colorado.
We encountered two trail angels on our trip. These folks who give of their time and resources to offer food and comfort to hikers are truly angels. The over abundance of kindness they show far exceeds what might be expected. To trail angels everywhere and particularly to those who offered food, kindness and good conversation, thank you. Your words and deeds are appreciated.
Sections 19 and 20 are dominated by Cochetopa Creek, which flows through an unspoiled valley for more than 14 miles. The steady, uphill grade in this area is tempered by the beauty of this valley full of beaver dams and unspoiled habitat. Directly above the headwaters of Chochetopa Creek is the high saddle below San Luis Peak. Three miles and three more saddles later is the summit of San Luis Pass and the Continental Divide (again!). Anderson and I slogged through a cold rain in this high section of the trail. Still, we were making enough miles to position ourselves for another needed zero day in Lake City. The trail generally stays above 12,000 as it crosses the high plateau of Snow Mesa before dropping sharply to the summit of Spring Creek Pass where Shannon once again was waiting with resupply and already-arranged accommodations in Lake City.
We set up camp in Lake City in an RV park that has positioned itself to accommodate CT hikers. Friends met us there and many of our trail family members were there as well. What started as a welcome respite from the trail was later upended by news of a family medical emergency. I was forced off the trail and saddened to miss the final nine days of hiking with the good friends we had made. Worried, Shannon and I made our way to Colorado Springs where we spent four days until the crises resolved itself to a degree I felt OK about getting on the trail again.
One of the great benefits of backpacking is the paring down of what one needs to live. The luxuries of life are eliminated, yielding to simple food and shelter. It is a realignment of values, a trek down Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs pyramid to basic survival requirements. After 27 days on the trail, four days of life with modern conveniences was difficult to leave. I arrived back at Spring Creek Pass lacking enthusiasm for the trail and missing my trail family. I knew I would meet new people and the rhythm of the trail would return in a day or two, but I was calling on some stashed determination when I said good-bye to Shannon and began the final nine days, during which I planned at least 15 miles a day. I had read before the trip that determination is the most important piece of gear in a pack. I dug mine out and then dug deep at the start of my final nine days.
The next four days and three nights of travel are arguably the most beautiful of the trail. Leaving Spring Creek Pass, the trail climbs to it’s high point of 13,271 and generally stays above 12,000 feet as it maneuvers through the heart of the breathtaking San Juan Mountains. The sheer number of peaks higher than 13,000 feet is almost mind boggling in this section. So abundant are the high peaks many don’t have names, as though explorers and mapmakers were simply overwhelmed with the task. At Stony Pass I was surprised by Brian Hicke, a friend from Boulder who made a Herculean effort to join me for the weekend. As it happens, we re-created a large portion of a trip the two of us had completed only last year. The hike from Stony Pass to Elk Creek is spectacular with the Grenadier Range peaks providing much of the dramatic scenery. If I had to pick a favorite day of hiking, this might be it.
The high-altitude hiking ends at Elk Creek where 27 switchbacks (by our count) lead the hiker down off the Continental Divide once again to the valley floor. The trail follows Elk Creek down past the turn off to Vestal Basin (home of the Grenadier Range) to the Animas River. The trail loses roughly 3,500 feet in this section before crossing the Animas River and confronting another 37 switchbacks (by our count again) back up out of the valley to the summit of Molas Pass. Here again Shannon was there with needed supplies and accommodations. With her was her cousin-in-law Randy Dent who was joining me for the final five days. Randy is an avid hiker from Sedona, Ariz., and has done several overseas treks, but it is worth noting he was embarking on his first-ever backpacking trip on his 68th birthday.
Randy and I set off from Molas Pass the next morning. My spirits were high with the end in sight, but after more than 30 days on the CT, I knew this trail would offer no gimmes. It seems like it might be all downhill from Molas Pass to Durango, but that is not the case. While the trail is no longer hovering in the 11,000- to 12,000-foot range, it generally maintains an elevation of between 10,000 and 11,000 feet right up to the last 10 miles down to Durango. In this stretch we met Mike (trail name Poley) who joined us, and as with so many trail hikers, became a valued friend. Mike, at age 72, showed zero signs of slowing down, artificial hip be damned. Now the youngest member of the group, I led my compatriots along on the 15-mile a day pace I was wanting to keep. This proved no problem except for weather. As though the CT wanted to pose one more challenge before sending us on our way back to modern life, the rains began. We hiked through four days of on and off rain, some of it severe. We got wet and wetter still. By the last morning, all were stuffing soaking wet equipment in packs.
As with so many other days on the trail, the best thing to do on that wet last morning was to walk. We climbed the last 1,000-foot climb by 10 a.m. and started down for the final 10 miles. With four miles remaining, we met Shannon once again, this time at Gudy’s Rest. By mid afternoon we arrived at the Junction Creek Trailhead, the southern terminus of the Colorado Trail. There to meet us was Tazzie (named for her home in Tasmania, Australia), Chipmunk and Durango residents Jeff and Jennifer Pratt. We shared a celebratory beer in the parking lot, dropped Mike off in downtown Durango and then made our way back home to Rico, Colo.
The trail for me was not life changing as it is for so many people, but it was life validating. I am happy to have done it and equally happy to be back home, even though in the very back of my mind I sometimes miss the simple rhythm of the trail and a world where almost everyone is a friend. It is doubtful I will make another 500-mile through-hike because it felt like too long a time to be away from home. There will be other trails to hike, that’s for sure, but maybe none as spectacular as the Colorado Trail.