Copper to Monarch on the CT – day 10, end of our trail.

In Salida at the Simple Hostel

The prospect of beer and burgers in town prompted an early rise. Dan rejected my bid for a 4:30 wake up, but agreed to 5, and we were on the trail by 6, a first.

He also rejected my suggestions for a trail name. Answering the call of nature, he heard something creeping up stealthily behind him. Fearing an ambush by a hungry mountain lion, he cautiously turned to see instead an amorous grouse in the grip of love-fever displaying its most alluring feathered finery.

I was not surprised that he rejected my first trail name suggestion (Grouse Boy), but was disappointed that he would not even consider my second (Lion Tamer). As we were not traveling in a group, I had neither the power of peer pressure or even common usage to make the name stick. My efforts to welcome him into the grand community of hiker trash were in vain. We live in a world devoid of gratitude, my friends.

We made the ridge above Hunt Lake in good time, attaining the Divide and commencing the last tundra walk of our journey.

Our views of the Gunnison drainage were limited by wildfire smoke trapped under an inversion layer. Still, I love these walks. The Kansans we met hiking the CDT at Twin Lakes were shocked when I told them I had no desire to hike the AT, a trail they had all hiked and loved.

I like being out in the open, in possession of a far horizon. I like to take in as much of the world in a glance as I can. It makes me feel both larger – a part of something incomprehensibly grand – and smaller at the same time. That tension is a lot more interesting than watching trees – lovely and beautiful as they are – pass by mile after mile.

We paused for a bit at the Prehistoric Walls exhibit (low rock chutes built by paleoIndians to ambush elk and goats) and then double timed it through Monarch ski area and down the ridge to the store at Monarch Pass.

Done.

The store staff kindly directed us to the hiker corner of the store where we could stash packs and charge phones away from the view of the more respectable clientele.

We found Justin there, a young man who camped near us the previous evening. He was on the phone with Tom, a trail angel from Salida who had left a card offering hikers free rides into town.

As soon as he hung up, Chuck, another angel, popped in and asked who needed a ride. We hopped in his truck, called Tom to cancel our ride (Tom and Chuck have a bit of a rivalry to see who can give the most rides to hikers), and were soon at the Simple Hostel in Salida’s lively downtown.

The hostel runs on the honor system until 4, when the owner arrives to check everyone in. We claimed bunks, took showers, chatted with other hikers for a bit and then commenced to run our only errand – securing our bus tickets.

We had purchased tickets online, but Greyhound did not give us an e-ticket option. Having neglected to bring a printer with us, we needed to pick up will-call tickets at the Chaffee County transit center about a mile away.

Despite having received confirmation emails, their computers said our credit cards had been declined and we would have to come back tomorrow to make a cash purchase from the bus driver. A quick check of our bank accounts showed that Greyhound had indeed taken our money. Apparently that part of their system functions correctly and efficiently.

We spent the rest of the day enjoying the delights of town life – beers and burgers for lunch followed by beers and pizza for dinner, with a nap in the shade in the park along the Arkansas River in between. There were cards with some of the young folks at the hostel, and we regrouped to chat and drink beer in the warm night out on the patio, and they even listened to me warble a few hillbilly songs on my uke. A very fine evening and a very fine ending to a very fine hike.

A side note. I went the entire hike, some 150 miles, without ever treating my drinking water. We’ve been taught to fear our environment, to keep various buffers between it and us, to avoid direct contact with the wild. Thus we sleep in tents on fine fair nights, and poison or filter water that is the purest and freshest in the world. On this particular hike, where we followed the Continental Divide nearly the whole way, there was no need to treat water – there was nothing upstream save the sky itself. Although the current raw water craze is nothing but a scam, drinking cold fresh water trickling down off a mountain is a true pleasure that should not be missed while out in the wild. Try it. You won’t die.