I decided to go backpacking through the Weminuche wilderness in Colorado's San Juan mountains back in May, when I learned that you can take the train from Durango to a wilderness trail that leads into Chicago Basin. With each passing year, I miss Colorado more and more (especially summer in the high country), and I decided to make a plan to visit. Raf had a Wilderness First Responder course scheduled for the week of July 21–25, so when I saw that flights between San Francisco and Durango were exceptionally cheap during that time, I pulled the trigger. The San Juans are undoubtedly Colorado's finest range: high, rugged, and lonesome peaks of volcanic origin. I planned a two-part trip: (1) camp out a few nights in Chicago Basin and climb some 14-ers, and then (2) make my way to Silverton, where I'll hop on the train back to Durango.
A few things are different about this trip from previous ones!
1. Lighter pack: I recently upgraded my tent to a lightweight model and switched to an internal frame pack. This trip, I am carrying only 35 lbs. maximum, compared to previous trips where I have carried 45-55 lbs.
2. Melatonin: Sleep is a big factor for backpacking, both because it is challenging on the ground and at elevation, and because it is so essential. I decide to bring some melatonin to give myself the best chance of success.
3. GPS: I've typically been an old-school paper map kinda guy, but I recently started using Gaia GPS, and it has opened the door to tons of off-trail exploration! Not only does Gaia have many more mapped trails than the National Geographic paper maps, but it shows you where you are at any given time with respect to the topography. Just need to keep my phone charged!
Here's a map generated with Gaia of my 70-mile route:
And some elevation stats – note that during the second half of the trip, I am almost always above 12,000 feet: Day 0: Ben Lomond, CA to Durango, CO
Starting around 3am, I drive an hour over the Santa Cruz mountains to SFO, for a 6am flight. After transferring in Denver, I land in Durango about 12:30pm, where I'm picked up by real estate agent Jason, who will show me some properties in Durango and Silverton. I am curious if southwest Colorado, an area that I have always loved and almost moved to after grad school, offers more bang for your buck than Silicon Valley (it does, but not by much). We see one place in the high desert outside Durango (not my vibe), one in the foothills near Purgatory ski resort (cool A-frame, but highway noise), and two in Silverton (tiny Victorian mining homes with lots of charm). He drops me off at the home of Tommy Crosby (of Spoken Tour fame) and his wife Alyssa, and I hang out and eat dinner with his friends that have gathered for the evening. Great little community of folks in Durango!
Day 1: Durango, CO to Chicago Basin (6.6 miles; 3300' up)
Tommy drops me off at the station of the Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Train, which will take me to a wilderness trailhead that is ten miles by foot from the nearest highway (the train goes through a gorge that is too narrow for a road to also pass through). The old-timey charm of the train is mostly outweighed by the constant stream of black diesel exhaust that pours into the open-air cars, but I enjoy the views and wilderness access nonetheless. For the return trip, I decide to switch my ticket to an indoor car in the rear of the train. At the Needleton Flagstop, I get off the train along with about 25 other backpackers. I have nothing I need to adjust or rearrange – fully prepared – so I just put on my pack and start walking.
I ascend the Needle Creek trail to Chicago Basin, where I set up my basecamp for a day or two of mountain climbing. Four peaks exceeding 14,000 feet ("Fourteeners") sit above Chicago Basin: Eolus, North Eolus, Sunlight, and Windom. Shortly after I set up my tent and eat my refried beans, a violent thunderstorm with nearby lightning strikes and heavy rain descends on the basin. After years of living near the coast where lightning is extremely rare, an afternoon Colorado thunderstorm is a blessing. The summer weather of western Colorado and northern New Mexico is characterized by convective thunderstorms that form as hot air from the deserts to the west rises to the heights of the Rockies, culminating in thunderstorms that occur almost everyday around 1 or 2pm. The air typically settles by about 4pm, but today, the clouds just keep coming. In the evening I hike up to Twin Lakes basin, the jumping off point for the 14-ers, in anticipation of a possible summit weather window, but such a window never arrives and I hike back down to basecamp. A nice evening stroll.
Day 2: Mt. Eolus, North Eolus, and Mt. Windom (7 miles; 5400' up and down)
I wake up in the wee hours of the morning, guessing around 3am, and see the headlamps from a neighboring campsite flashing on my tent walls. I peak out and see a large group (8+) marching in a line up the trail, in drizzling rain. This is the "alpine start": with the threat of afternoon lightning, it is important to start early so you can get back before the lightning starts. I decide to wait a bit longer because I'd rather not hike in the rain and dark and risk my headlamp going out, and I am fast so it's not essential to start so early. I wake up again in a couple hours in the gray light of dawn; the rain has stopped. I throw on my pack and start walking back up to Twin Lakes. I decide to climb Eolus first – with some Class 3 scrambling, it is more challenging than Windom, but not as challenging as Sunlight. I make my way up the drainage below Eolus' east face, seeing the twinkling lights of headlamps far above, to the saddle between Eolus and North Eolus, and the out onto the "Catwalk", a narrow ridgeline with exposure on both sides that leads to the main body of Eolus. After the Catwalk, I scramble up the summit ridge, just to the left / east of the ridgeline, and then reach the summit at about 7:15am. 14,085'.
Summiting a tall mountain is a powerful and humbling experience, and I often become overwhelmed with gratitude, wonder, and awe, both as I make my way up and on the summit. I have never loved the dominating language that is often used to describe summits, e.g. "bagged", "conquered" etc. Sure, it's important to note the physical achievement involved, but we should be using language of reverence, respect, honor, and humility when describing these tall spirits of stone that we have the privilege of experiencing. In this setting, the body is merely a perception device that allows an ephemeral human soul to commune with some of the oldest and most enduring masses on Earth.
The peak is fully souped in – usually one of the perks of climbing 14-ers is expansive views, but I appreciate the experience of being enclosed in a world of mist, of reaching the height of the clouds. I take a moment to tell Raf and my folks that I am alive and on top of Eolus, before descending back down the summit ridge and across the Catwalk, where marmots stand guard. I make my way up to North Eolus, a short jaunt, and find that it is even more souped in than Eolus was. By this time, it's only about 8am, so I decide to go summit Windom as well, the easiest of the peaks (Class 2 only).
Along the way, I see a few mountain goats! Two adults and one baby, the winter coats of the adults nearly shed. Compared to Eolus, Windom is less technical and exciting, mainly just hiking up a mile or two of talus (large boulders and cobbles). At first, the summit is fully souped in, but after a few minutes, the mist clears and I enjoy some views of the surrounding mountains and alpine lakes. I descend back to Twin Lakes and enjoy the lake and surroundings, which feel lush after descending through the rocky world above 13,000'. I stay until around noon, thinking I am being responsible, but as I start to descend, heavy rain comes in and I get soaked by the time I reach my tent. I spend the rest of the afternoon either in the tent while it rains, or outside trying to dry my gear. I appreciate that the storms break the heat, but it's also a bummer having to lay low all afternoon.
During my walk up Mt. Windom, I had scoped out Sunlight Peak a fair bit. This is the hardest of the three, with some Class 4 scrambling – rope often used / recommended, like the Second Flatiron that I used to free climb – on the final summit block. I don't particularly need that level of technical climbing, and the approach to the final summit block is really just a scramble up a scree (loose pebbles and gravel) slope. In other words, the mountain does not call to me, and I decide to continue on my journey the next day, rather than spend another day / night in Chicago Basin. I knew coming into this trip that it was probably a couple days too long – I primarily decided on the trip length based on the days when the flights were cheap (by 100s of dollars). So I cross my fingers that in the coming stretches of trail, there will be some areas that call to me for further exploration / day trips.
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| Summit of Mt. Eolus |
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Looking down towards Sunlight (left) and Mt. Windom (middle) from Mt. Eolus
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| North Eolus from Mt. Eolus |
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| Marmots on the Catwalk |
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| Heading over to Mt. Windom |
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| Twin Lakes |
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| Goats! They blend in so well |
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| Views from Mt. Windom (towards Sunlight Lake and Vallecito) |
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Views from Mt. Windom, looking southeast towards Vallecito
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Views from Mt. Windom, looking southwest towards Chicago Basin
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Views from Mt. Windom, looking northeast (the Guardian and Mt. Silex in the upper left)
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| Sunlight Peak, the one I decided not to climb; route goes up the scree slope between the two peaks |
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| Twin Lakes |
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| Goats again |
Day 3: Chicago Basin to the Grotto (17.7 miles; 4400' up; 4600' down)
I pack up camp and then begin to climb wildflower slopes to Columbine Pass. After a couple days of rain, this morning is the first real stretch of sunshine and it feels great! On the east side of Columbine Pass, the trail descends steeply about 3000 feet to the base of Vallecito, where I turn north and follow Vallecito Creek about ten miles as it steadily ascends towards Hunchback Pass. My goal for the day is to land at "the Grotto", a legendary campsite in the lore of Tommy and Tyler. I cruise the next ten miles below treeline and then climb a set of switchpacks along Nebo Creek. When I reach a creek crossing, I pull out my Gaia GPS app and discover that I have nearly arrived at the Grotto! I look around a bit and quickly find some tent pads, fire rings, and good sitting logs along Nebo Creek between two large waterfalls – one above the site, and one below. I quickly discover that the flies and mosquitos are present and persistent here, so I stay moving for most of the evening.
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| Wildflowers and Mt. Eolus |
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| Alpine Paintbrushes |
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Wildflowers, looking towards Chicago Basin
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| Heading up to Columbine Pass |
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Wildflowers and Mt. Eolus
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| Mt. Eolus |
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| Goodbye Chicago Basin! |
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| Waterfalls at the Grotto |
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| Waterfalls at the Grotto |
Day 4: The Grotto to Verde Lake (10.3 miles; 3400' up; 2100' down)
I wake up at the grotto, drink a protein beverage, pack up, and resume climbing Nebo Creek drainage. At the junction with the CDT, I go left / north and start hiking up Hunchback Pass. Within about an hour of walking in the morning, I am almost always hit with a wave of gratitude – for life, for a body that carries me through the wilderness, for the beauty that surrounds. This hour is usually the best of the day – I am fresh, moving once again, with a full day ahead. At Hunchback Pass, I am greeted by gently sloping emerald slopes with shrubs, snow patches, and rocks dotting the landscape. I descend into Bear Creek drainage, climb out onto the Continental Divide, and then take a short detour to El Dorado lake on the west side of the divide.
I resume walking north and meet up again with the CDT – the stretch of trail before me is undoubtedly one of my all time favorites. I know what to expect, having studied the topography – specifically, 12,000 ft elevation contours spaced far apart, flanked by dense contours on either side. In other words, the trail undulates along a broad, high-elevation ridgeline with expansive views in all directions. This contrasts with the JMT, which is almost always descending or ascending steeply. I don't take too many photos of the CDT because I would have to pull out my phone every other step, so I mainly just enjoy. As I walk, the dark clouds start to build on all sides. Like clockwork, weather in the mountains of Colorado follows a distinct routine: clear skies at dawn, clouds building throughout the morning, rain and thunder beginning around 1pm, and scattered showers until around 4pm. The topographic characteristics that make this stretch of the CDT incredible also make it very exposed to lightning. As I start to approach the lightning hour, I am relieved to find I've almost reached my turn, down and to the west, off the ridge.
In light rain, I descend one drainage, climbing up and over into the next, and then see Verde Lake in the valley in front of me. I walk high above along the eastern side of the larger lake, and then descend and walk along the shore of the smaller one, until I find the best campsite of the trip, and possibly all time. Situated between the end of the lake and a broad ridge, the site sits within a green bowl of a valley, on a patch of soft grass nestled between two rock outcrops that protect it from the wind. I set up camp, eat my refried beans, and then walk up on a hilltop and gaze out on the rugged mountains of the Grenadier Range to the south. I spend the rest of the evening stretching, walking around, and looking at the lakes, valley, and surrounding mountains from different angles.
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| The Guardian (left), Mt. Silex (middle), Storm King Peak (right) |
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| Looking south from Hunchback Pass |
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| El Dorado Lake |
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| El Dorado Lake |
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| Continental Divide Trail / Colorado Trail |
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Continental Divide Trail / Colorado Trail
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| Looking west into Elk Creek drainage, thankful I didn't have to ascend that one |
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| Looking South at the Grenadier Range: Trinity Peaks, Vestal, Arrow, Graystone, and Electric Peaks |
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| Looking down at Verde Lake and my campsite; note tiny white tent in the middle of the image |
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| New tent! / spaceship |
Day 5: Unnamed Ridge, Whitehead Trail, and Mt. Rhoda (9.9 miles; 3700' up and down)
I wake up to ice on the tent! Frigid night. After my usual protein shake and tallow scoop breakfast, I start walking, determined to cross over the ridge above my campsite, and then hook up with the Whitehead Trail and do a lap around the west side of the Highland Mary area. The ridge is incredible, wildflowers illuminated by the clear morning sun. I descend and then connect up with what should be an established trail that turns out to be non-existent. So I just follow the GPS track instead (not as fun). Along the way, in a patch of shrubs, I see a moose! He or she sees me too and runs away. I loop around an extension of the ridge that overlooks my campsite, and I see about thirty mountain goats on top! Just little white dots moving around. As I make my way around the backside, I see two moose off in the distance. They seem to be lovers. I think of Raf. What a morning!
I walk along wildflower slopes and then start climbing into an unnamed drainage beneath Whitehead Peak and Mt. Rhoda (I don't know why some mountains are peaks vs. mounts). Beneath Rhoda, I abruptly decide to climb it, and walk directly up the slope to the peak in less than a half hour. Turns out this peak is very prominent and has great views all around. I descend and then scope out the pass near Sugarloaf (neither a peak nor mount), that I will take on my way out. I see a badger along the way! I then descend another unnamed drainage to Highland Mary lakes (lots of people! whiffs of cigarettes?) and then back to my campsite where I eat my refried beans. Later in the afternoon, I venture back out onto the ridge and see a herd of 30-40 mountain goats! Probably the same one from earlier.
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| Looking east at an unnamed lake (left) and Verde Lake (right) |
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| San Juan splendor |
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Looking southeast toward Verde Lake and the Grenadier Range
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| Looking south toward the Grenadier Range |
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| Looking north towards Whitehead Peak and Mt. Rhoda |
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| Looking south towards the Grenadier Range |
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| Looking south toward the Grenadier Range |
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| Lost Lake |
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| Unnamed ridge (goats on top) |
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| Unnamed ridge (goats on top – little white specks in the upper left) |
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| Arrow Peak and Electric Peak (upper left) |
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| Tiny Moose (two black dots in upper right) |
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| Whitehead Peak |
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| Looking northeast into Spencer Basin from Mt. Rhoda |
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Looking east toward unnamed ridge
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Looking south toward Whitehead Peak and the Grenadier Range
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Wildflowers and unnamed ridge by my campsite
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Wildflowers and unnamed ridge by the campsite
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Goats!
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Day 6: Verde Lake to Arrastra Basin (11.4 miles; 4100' up and down)
I had initially planned on staying three nights at Verde Lake, but I get a little antsy and decide to make moves. It's not enough of a hike to head directly to my next campsite (Arrastra Basin), so I tack on an extra six miles or so on the CDT – this turns out to be an incredible way to spend the morning! I have to descend back down below treeline to 10,800 feet, the lowest I'd been in a while, and then back up to 13,000, but enjoying additional miles on the CDT makes it worth it. I ascend along an unnamed drainage below Sugarloaf and then pass over into Spencer Basin, glorious green slopes with no established trails or other hikers, only stray rusted mining debris.
Coming steeply out of Spencer, I cross over a short pass and then out onto the steep scree slopes that lead down into Arrastra Basin. As I skirt the loose face on a thin, intermittent trail, I see the ruins of the Silver Lake mines far below. The upper reaches of Arrastra Basin are beautiful and seemingly pristine, with a stream that tumbles over a long series of waterfalls to the valley floor and the inlet of Silver Lake, whereas the north side of Silver Lake bears the scars of late 19th and early 20th century industrial mining. I explore the ruins a bit. I don't know enough about mining technology or turn of the century machinery to piece together what the operation might have looked like based on the dilapidated structures: trestles, steel cables, steel pipes, sealed tunnel entrances, steel buckets, living areas etc.
I later read about the history of mining in Arrastra Basin, which includes the Silver Lake, Iowa, Royal Tiger, and Buckeye mines from around 1870-1930. It's amazing to consider that beneath these mountains lie miles of tunnels that men once navigated, pursuing the veins of silver, gold, and lead until the lode petered out. And the lode did indeed peter out, leading to the eventual abandonment of the mines. Silver Lake sits in a hanging glacially-carved valley above a steep headwall – millions of dollars of infrastructure were required to exploit the mineral resource and carry the ore down to the railroad below, and I suppose that same level of investment is not available to clean it all up. Anyway, I enjoy the last couple hours of evening sun higher up in the basin near the waterfalls, where I wash my face and relish in the final hours of wilderness.
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| Looking East from the CDT |
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Looking north on the CDT
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Looking north on the CDT
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| Spencer Basin, looking West towards Mt. Rhoda (upper left) |
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| Spencer Basin looking North |
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| Spencer Basin looking West |
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| Wildflowers of Spencer Basin, looking south |
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| Coming into Arrastra Basin, Silver Lake far below |
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| The "Trail" into Arrastra Basin |
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| Unnamed mountain looming over Arrastra Basin, trail goes across the scree slope just below the intact summit rock |
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| Ruins of Silver Lake Mine |
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Ruins of Silver Lake Mine
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Ruins of Silver Lake Mine
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Ruins of Silver Lake Mine
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Ruins of Silver Lake Mine
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| Arrastra Creek |
Day 7: Arrastra Basin to Silverton (7 miles; 650' up; 3530' down)
After my third night sleeping at 12,200', my body has had enough. Despite the melatonin, the quality of my sleep had deteriorated over the past few nights due to the elevation, and I wake up pretty groggy on my final day in the wilderness. I descend the last six or so miles down toward Silverton, and the trail leads directly into town. My first stop is the Silverton Grocery, where I drink three cold bubbly waters on the front deck and chat with other hikers who have congregated there eating ice cream and snacks. Most of them are Colorado Trail thru hikers, with one Continental Divide Trail hiker – he regales us with tales of his 8 years being a perma-hiker. He spends his winters in Latin America or the southwest United States, and the remainder of the year walking long trails like the CDT, PCT, AT etc.
I then make my way to El Bandito, the most affordable and delicious looking restaurant in town, and eat some chicken nachos. Aside from the canned jalapeños (fresh are soooo much better), it's a nice first post-backpacking meal after a week of refried beans. I check in early to the Avon, the hostel where I'll stay for a night before heading back to Durango. There are many cozy sitting areas, both inside and outside, with rustic / wild west decor and Clint Eastwood movies playing in the lobby. After a nice long shower, I decide to make my way to the Shangri-La Soaking Pools, which are essentially three giant hot tubs in a windowless room with twinkling lights on the ceiling and regular ice water fill-ups for just $20. I have the place to myself and soak for about two hours, with intermittent yoga-inspired stretches. Back at the hostel, I make dinner entirely with food marked "free": fettuccini with rehydrated ground beef, half a jar of no-sugar-added marinara (a miracle!), olive oil, half a container of cream cheese, and two slices of muenster cheese. It turns out great! I spend the rest of the evening hanging out on the second floor deck and watching the sun disappear behind the ridge.
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| Coming into Silverton! |
Day 8: Silverton to Durango
After the most refreshing sleep in many days, I stroll over to Coffee Bear around 7am and enjoy my first coffee in a week on the rooftop bar, loving the morning stillness. As I'm making my way through a free refill (they still exist! but only one) a guy starts jamming on the guitar – very proficiently! Eventually Texans in oversized diesel trucks towing four-wheelers break the peace and I start a lap around the backstreets back towards Silverton grocery, where I grab a pound of ground beef that I cook into spicy fennel sausage back at the Avon. I take another long shower, sit around in the hostel lobby, and then make my way to the train station.
The diesel exhaust on the return trip is less intense due to moving to the middle of the train and the generally downhill trajectory, but it's still very present and severe. I'm obviously more conscious than most regarding environmental contaminants and emissions, but even the we-love-petroleum crowd that I share the car with are grumbling. I'm not exaggerating here – the Oklahomans and Texans behind me are discussing their careers in land speculation and petroleum development.
Anyway, I wouldn't take the train again, despite the great views and convenient wilderness access. I'd rather just walk an extra ten miles. Back in Durango, I eat at Zia Taqueria, a local Chipotle analogue with tasty salsas, and then make my way to Tyler (of Spoken Tour fame) and Kate's house, riding free public transit the whole way. The conversation is excellent, the homemade Caesar dressing is incredible, and the bamboo sheets are so comfy. Another great night of sleep.
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| Peak Texan season in Silverton |
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| the Avon |
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| Nachos (guys you need to spread the toppings out) |
Day 9: Durango, CO to Ben Lomond, CA
After an overpriced cup of coffee (no free refill, but one "warmer", whatever that means), I head over to Durango diner for a mind-blowing breakfast. Every bite of the "Cajun Cure" with hashbrowns, andouille sausage, overeasy eggs, green chili, and grilled peppers and onions is packed with mildly spicy and savory flavor. I drink three or four cups of that transparent and delicious diner coffee, and then hop in an Uber to the airport. Raf picks me up and we head right to Hanabi, one of our favorite ramen spots to wrap up a stellar run of delicious restaurant meals.
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| the "Cajun Cure" |
