Trip Report
Summer Expedition
Desert, Ocean, Mountains, and Memory Lane
Summer, 1997 (June 20 - July 16)
by Dale Barnard
Segment One - Dessert Heat
I rolled out of Austin at 6am, mentally prepared for a long day of driving. My pickup truck lacked a shell so my valuables filled the passenger seat--guitar, tapes, water jugs, food, and a boom box. The boom box served as a substitute for having a car stereo. With so much stuff piled next to me, I struggled to keep it from falling on me or on the floor by the driving pedals. To prepare for the hot drive across the desert without air-conditioning, I carried over eight liters of water. I drank nearly all of it the first day.
After an 18-hour day of driving, I reached nearly to Dateland, Arizona, a small town with a wonderful dessert view that reached perhaps 25 miles in every direction. Dateland lies about three hours shy of the California border. I absolutely loved this area of the desert. The heat did not bother me at all. In fact, it felt just about like a hot Austin day--under 100 degrees all day. I felt an urge to spend a summer traveling around the desert in California, Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Nevada. I had previously felt an urge to spend a cold winter in the Northwest Territories while visiting Yellowknife, Canada. These seemingly opposite urges--one for scorching summer heat and the other for dark, winter ice--felt like one of the same to me. Sometimes I wonder whether I have become so much of a loner that I have begun to have strange masochistic, invulnerability urges or whether these urges arise from a more adventurous, secure ability to feel comfortable around myself.
Finding a safe place to sleep in the dessert proved to be quite simple. I took an off-ramp that led to a black abyss. No lights of any kind marked this exit--no gas stations, no paved roads, no houses. At the end of the off-ramp, a sandy road led out across the desert sand. I drove about 200 meters from the interstate and parked behind some bushes. My headlights gave way to one of the most incredible astronomical displays that I have ever seen. The clear, unpolluted night left and unshielded view of so many stars that finding simple constellations such as the big dipper proved difficult. Where did all of those other stars come from? As I laid in the open truck bed staring at the stars, several shooting stars streaked across my peripheral view. By about 2:00am, the night was cool enough that I needed to cover myself with a sheet. What a beautiful ending to such a long driving day.
I began my second day by exploring some back roads outside of Dateland, Arizona. The roads consisted of fine, powdery sand that nearly snagged my truck a couple of times. A 12-foot tall monument shaped as a pyramid marked a vast flatland dessert training ground for some past war. Further down one of the roads, a small clump of dusty trees held the remains of several old buildings. Soon the brown sand gave way to vivid, green fields of crops. The road now zigzagged between farms and it took me about 30 minutes to find my way back to the interstate. I rewarded my adventure with a stop at a grocery store for a cold shake made of rice.
I stopped in Holtville before crossing the mountains to San Diego. I tried to stir up some childhood memories of the Holtville Porsche races. I spoke to several people on the streets and no one had heard of a race track in Holtville. My photo albums contain pictures of my sister and I at the Porsche races from the time that we were babies, including one of my sister when she was so small that she rested comfortably in my father's racing helmet. Nothing in this town looked familiar so I drove on.
Just before San Diego, the interstate carves its way through the "Rock Pile." Miles of car-size, rounded boulders cover the mountains, leaving no trace of soil or plant life. I think that the Mexico-to-Canada Pacific Crest Hiking Trail crosses this area, but I did not see the trail crossing.
After a short, six-hour day, I made it to the outskirts of San Diego at my Grandmother's trailer in Santee.
Segment Two - Grandma's House
The idea of driving to Grandma's house to research my family history inspired me to take this trip in the first place. About a year before, she told me that she had a cedar chest full of tattered newspaper clippings and black and white photographs of the family. Her head overflows with 92 years of memories, many of them of when she was in her 20s, living what sounds like a fairly wild and ambitious lifestyle that took her as far from California as New York City. Almost on a whim, I committed to driving to San Diego from Austin to help document the family history for the benefit of the rest of the family. When we lose my grandmother, we will lose much more than a loved one.
I had a delightful, week-long stay in San Diego. Each morning before my grandma would wake up, I was either down at the beach, enjoying a museum, driving through my old neighborhood, or visiting the swap meet. Usually, I returned by about 2:00 in the afternoon so that we would have plenty of time to plow through mountains of family history. Once I figured out a format for capturing all of the lose fragments of information, we made good progress. It took us about four or five days to make it through the cedar chest. Frequently, our brains felt exhausted and we rested by watching a movie on cable TV. There is no such thing as silence at Grandma's house. If the TV is off, she tells stories. Actually, even with the TV on, she tells stories. My father once told her, "Everything reminds you of a story."
While in San Diego, I spent an evening visiting Uncle Steve, Aunt Janice, Cousin Mark, and Cousin Melonie in Jamul, a small town just outside of the city. I had a delightful stay and was able to catch up on what has been happening on the other side of my family. Mark and I played some of our original songs for the others as we enjoyed the cool, dry evening air.
As I was leaving late that night, Steve told me that my father still had an old utility trailer sitting unused in the yard. It is a 1950s Ford pickup truck bed that was converted to a trailer. I decided to take it back to Austin where I have plenty of good uses for it. A few obstacles stood before me: The trailer has more rust than paint, my truck has no trailer hitch, the trailer lights do not work, the license plate has been expired for 12 years, and the tires were too old and cracked to make it across the dessert. To make a long story short, I half-fixed the lights, bought two used tires for it, got a hitch installed on my truck, and succeeded in pulling the old heap of rust over 1,500 miles.
At the end of my visit at Grandma's house, I made a three-day side trip to Los Angeles. First, I visited my good friend Jacqui Pegg who was attending an African language class at UCLA for six weeks. We had a delightful visit with intensive conversations, lots of walking, and a fun day at Venice Beach. Venice Beach attracted some great street performers and odd looking characters. We walked for a few miles along the boardwalk and played in the waves. The best part, though, was the giant slices of pizza for a dollar.
My second stop in LA was to visit Kari Brown Gibson, a friend who used to live in Austin. She and her husband have a nice house with an ocean view in Hermosa Beach. We made mini-pizzas that we cooked on the barbecue and caught up on each other's lives. As much as I enjoyed visiting my friends, I especially enjoyed seeing LA in my rearview mirror. Despite all of the movies and news coverage, I never really imagined how giant and crowded a city could get.
I returned to San Diego to say good-by to my grandma. I felt sad to leave after such a nice visit, but I looked forward to my ten-year high school reunion in Colorado. I said good-by to her before going to sleep because I planned to leave early. Without an alarm, my longing for the open road woke me up right on time at 4:45am. I drove back to Uncle Steve's house and hitched up the trailer and headed for Colorado.
Segment Four - Mountain Bound
As it turned out, I did not actually leave San Diego until after noon because the trailer required some work before it was ready to go. I was glad that I had allowed myself two days to get to Colorado before the ten-year high school reunion was to start. Once on the open road, I learned just how heavy that trailer was as I tugged it over the "Rock Pile," the mountains just east of San Diego. I struggled up the mountains at 30-40 miles per hour with cars whizzing by me at 70.
I enjoyed the rather hot drive with the temperature soaring well above 100 degrees most of the day. I sweated out the usual liters of water and made no effort to avoid the mid-day heat. I always appreciate how well-adapted humans are to hot climates. As long as we have enough water, dessert heat is no problem for our bodies. Since the trailer had no tail lights--just blinkers--I decided to stop about 8:30pm before the sun went down. I found a side road about an hour west of Phoenix and drove until it felt remote enough. I parked the truck and savored setting sun as a wide-open dessert skyline filled the view. I set up my sheet in the back of the truck ready for another wonderful night in the dessert. As luck would have it, I had parked near a rare water source so I was able to feed the mosquitoes all night instead of sleeping.
The next day, I drove for about 12 hours before reaching Pagosa Springs, Colorado. The highlight of the drive was stopping near Gallup, New Mexico at an Indian store to get a nice cold, prickly-pear-cactus malt. It was a flavor that I will never forget.
Segment Five - Class of 1987
Have you ever been to a ten-year reunion? Yes? Then I don't need to say much. An impressive 36 people showed up from a graduating class of 74 students. I figure that about a third of them were unrecognizable (I am included in this category), a few of them did not change at all, and about a third of them looked the same as in high school, but gained weight. About half of them had kids hanging on their legs everywhere they went. Most of them were nicer than in the high school days. Sound like your reunion?
Segment Six - Backpacking the Rockies
Even the poetic freedom of hindsight could not improve on the mountains through which I walked. Every sight on which my eyes focused could be captured into a postcard. I spent five days in some of the most remote mountains that you can find in the United States. When I lived in Colorado, I had neither the interest nor the money to go beyond day-hikes. Although the late snow fields changed my plans, I managed to find plenty of trail to amaze my senses and stamp a new impression in my heart.
My mother and her husband dropped me off on their way to Silverton at Molas Pass, five miles south of Silverton and about an hour-and-a-half north of Durango. Noon had already passed so I planned to make a short hike before setting camp for the night. The snow fields to the west of Highway 550 were too unstable still so I headed eastward into the Weminuche Wilderness. I had two trail maps and a guide book that covered the entire Weminuche Wilderness so I did not need to commit to a destination.
The first four or five miles down Molas Trail descended steeply from about 11,000 feet until it reached the Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad tracks in the Animas River Valley. When the passing trains blew their whistles at Elk Creek Campground, it echoed through the entire valley. The trail crossed the mighty Animas River on a secure wood bridge and then crossed the railroad tracks before connecting to the Elk Creek Trail that leads up Elk Creek to the Great Divide. Of the five or six hikers who I crossed paths with over the next two days, all but one of them had started in Durango on the train and gotten off at the Elk Creek Campground stop. What a great way to begin a backpacking trip! My trail guide said that if you want to catch the train at the end of your trip, you can take a white-colored cloth of some sort and move it back and forth in a horizontal direction at about waist level to signal to the conductor that you would like to board.
The Elk Creek Trail climbed gradually up the Elk Creek Valley, frequently crossing tributaries. At these small creeks, I felt thankful that I had brought a good quality walking stick to help stabilize me with my heavy external frame pack as I rock-hopped across. If I started to lose my balance, the top-heavy pack would lean away from me, nearly pulling me over. Having an extra point of stabilization saved all but two topples during the trip. The trail crossed through aspen fields, pine fields, rock fields, and meadows. The valley narrowed and the trail frequently deviated far enough up on the hillside that the sound of the rushing water nearly vanished. During the five days of hiking, I rarely found myself far enough away from rushing water to enjoy the silence that I expected of the Rockies.
Just before dark, I set up my simple camp, which consisted of a food bag hanging in a tree and a Walrus Arch Rival tent. I studied my guide book and discovered that my short day had turned out to be a 10-mile hike, bringing me within about three hours of the Divide. This first day, I felt totally free and could think of no place that I would rather be. My sleeping was sporadic, but I managed to stay in my sleeping bag until 7:30am. I packed up my camp in the chilly morning air and questioned how far my tired and sore body could make it the second day.
I learned a bit about myself on this trip when I discovered my discomfort with sitting still. I went each day only sitting down two or three times, preferring to make continuous forward progress. At times, I felt so tired that I had to walk in baby steps, but I rarely stopped except to drink water. I felt reluctant to set up camp before I was ready to sleep because I did not feel like finding ways to entertain myself. I carried with me some pages from a novel, but read only two pages the whole time. I guess you could say that I was not backpacking to smell the flowers--I had another purpose.
My interest in backpacking really did not begin until last summer when my car travels happen to cross paths with the Appalachian Trail many times between Georgia and Maine. I spoke to several thru-hikers who intended to hike the entire 2158-mile trail in one season. Thus, my inspiration was oriented around long-distance hiking. I have an urge to find my limits, more mentally than physically. I want to observe changes in my attitude and the development of my dreams as I live in the long-distance hiker's reality. The views along the way are nice. The remoteness helps. The exercise is good. However, I am most interested in the internal journey. This trek in the Rockies serves as a pretest of greater adventures to come.
Shortly after leaving camp, I encountered my first serious stream crossing. I had left my aqua-socks at home to cut the weight of my pack so I had to face this stream in my bare feet. I hustled across the stream in the icy water that had just emerged from a snow bank. My feet felt a bit numb after about ten seconds of the cold water. I carefully dried each foot, put on a sock liner, wool outer sock, and laced up my hiking boots using a special back-crossing lacing pattern. I donned my heavy pack, attached all of the straps, picked up my hiking stick and hit the trail again. In 200 feet, the trail crossed right back over the same stream.
Soon, I encountered a large, healthy-looking, white mountain goat walking down the trail toward me. I knew about bears, rattle snakes, skunks, porcupines, and ticks. I had not studied up on mountain goats with large, mean-looking antlers. Will it charge? Should I scratch it under the chin? I stopped and took out my camera while it approached. As it got within about 20 feet, I decided that I had better step off the trail so that it can follow the trail to the stream. No such luck. It, too, stepped off the trail and walked right toward me. I took two quick pictures and then prepared to defend myself. The goat came within ten feet of me and stopped. From looking at its healthy fur coat, I guessed that it was well-fed by hikers and pretty much owned the valley's food supply. I started walking parallel to the trail, away from the goat, and it lost interest in me. I later passed some other hikers who had heard rumor that the goat had charged some other hikers. I have a feeling that the rumor had been exaggerated.
About an hour into my morning hike, I came upon an old mining cabin that used to be part of the Bear Creek Mining District across the Divide. The cabin stood resiliently at the base of the massive Continental Divide lurking just above. The miners must have been incredibly rugged individuals to pack in their lumber, food, and mining supplies to spend a season in this cabin above tree line, enduring afternoon snows, strong winds, an intensive loneliness. Wooden planks from the mine still lined the ground nearby, but I saw no remnant of a shaft.
From the cabin, the view of the Divide felt overwhelming--a massive green, grassy slope punctuated by the clearly visible trail as it switched back 27 times before cresting. The tallest plants stood only a few inches off of the ground and wildflowers flooded the green landscape with color. The 27 switchbacks were graded very gradually to prevent erosion and perhaps partly out of kindness to hikers who need more time to adapt to the 12,680-foot elevation. Do I need to describe the view as I stood on the windy crest of the Divide?
I followed the Continental Divide Trail to the south for a few hundred feet before completely losing sign of it in the snow fields. Luckily, I encountered another hiker named Craig at this point so we pooled our vision and eventually located the trail in the valley below. We descended on the other side of the Divide across some snow fields before rejoining the trail. The trail took us by Ute Lake, one of the many glacial lakes I encountered. Three off-road vehicles cluttered the view at this point. Apparently, a four-wheel-drive road accesses this area from the Rio Grande Reservoir. I turned back toward the Divide, headed for Hunchback Pass up at 12,493 feet.
My unfortunate timing found me nearly above tree-line with giant, anvil-shaped clouds forming in every corner of the sky with a bright blue background between them. These well-defined thunderstorm cells followed predictable paths that could be determined during a few minutes of observation. This time, they were headed my way. I climbed as close to the edge of tree-line as I felt comfortable and then decided to wait out the lightening threat in the last patch of trees. At this point, Craig came by. He said that he lived in Durango and felt a need to experience the wilderness "one last time" before his girlfriend gives birth in a couple of weeks. From his attitude, I got the strong feeling that this pregnancy was not a welcome turn of events for him. We set up his large tarp and then waited out the storm. After about an hour and a half, we decided to head over Hunchback Pass.
After crossing the windy 60-degree summit at 4:00pm, the trail headed down the Vallecito Valley, ultimately reaching Vallecito Reservoir near Durango. I hiked for another four hours, watching carefully for a left turn onto Rock Creek Trail. Finally, I guessed that I had somehow missed the trail so I stopped to set up camp. Finding a good tree in which to hang my food bag proved difficult nearly every night, this being no exception. I often had to settle for hanging it less than 8 feet from the ground or closer than 10 feet to the tree trunk. Thankfully, no bears sniffed out the dry, unwelcoming food that I carried. Once stopped, I found myself feeling bored very easily, not feeling satisfied just looking at the awe-inspiring scenery. I did not feel like reading the section of book that I brought with me and journal writing did not fill enough time. I felt like hiking with a companion to help silence the loneliness.
The next morning, I packed up my tent, retrieved my food bag from the near-by tree, and headed down the trail. Within 200 meters, I found the Rock Creek Trail heading off to the left. I had not passed it after all! If I had gone straight, I would have reached civilization that evening, but my ambition turned me to the left, heading back up toward the Continental Divide.
By 2:30 in the afternoon, I was nearing treeline again. As usual, the storms trapped me below the trees since I dared not rise to the alpine tundra during a lightning threat. This time, the temperature suddenly dropped about 20 degrees, bringing a sudden cold rain. The sparse trees and ominous thunder concerned me a bit so I removed my Ridgerest foam pad from my pack, folded it several times, and crouched on it. Soon, the rain turned to sleet and began to accumulate on my raincoat. Chilly as it was, I knew that the storm would pass quickly and the sun would return. The thunder never exceeded the loudness of the rushing Rock Creek a hundred feet away. Within an hour, the sun had returned, although a light rain continued to fall through the sunlight. I decided to go for the summit. My enthusiasm was quickly stifled, though, when another storm cell rolled in and stopped me for a while longer. I feared that I would have to camp early, but the second storm passed quickly.
I tromped through the mud for several hours, not stopping until I had descended into the forest, passed by the beautiful Flint Lakes and climbed above treeline again near the Continental Divide. About 9:00 in the evening, I found a flat spot for my tent. The sky looked clear so I doubted that lightning would be a threat, but I put on the rain fly to prepare for a chilly, high-altitude night. I stretched out in my tent and nursed my blistered feet. The intensive hiking without breaks left me with numerous blisters that had started to break. Although I had logged about 100 miles of hiking on my boots before starting this trip, they now felt too narrow for my feet. My moleskin refused to stick to my sweaty feet and I ran out of iodine pads. Next time, I will bring plenty of medical tape. When I climbed into my sleeping bag, I discovered that a one-liter water bottle had emptied itself in my pack. My sleeping bag and long-underwear was soaked. I thanked myself for choosing a synthetic fiber sleeping bag rather than a down bag because down loses its insulative effect when wet. It felt like I was sleeping in a straight jacket while wearing wet blue jeans, but I stayed reasonably warm.
After a rough sleep, I packed up my frosted tent and started the hike. After three days of strenuous hiking, my body begged me for a rest day, but I had little with which to entertain myself other than hiking. Thus, I hiked onward.
I hiked up to the Continental Divide and marveled at the sights. It was a great feeling to know that so much undisturbed wilderness remains in Colorado. As far as I could see, the mountains stretched onward with no sight of civilization. I snapped some pictures, using my walking stick as a monopod for better quality. Then, I sat down to study my maps. I soon became confused for the first time on this trip. I hiked around and around trying to make sense of the four-way split in the trail, but nothing seemed to match up. The snow fields obscured most of the trail, making it more difficult to follow. Soon, two hikers approached. After about 30 minutes of discussion and head-scratching, I felt half-way oriented again and continued. I descended the mountain on the other side and began my trek down the Rincon La Osa (Hidden or Meadowed Valley of the Bear).
I should probably have given my body the rest day to prevent injuries. By mid-day, I had strained my left butt cheek when jumping over a narrow creek and my right knee had become quite painful. I also began to notice that I craved salty foods. I ate five pieces of beef jerky and felt better within minutes. My supply of salty foods had run out so I made a note in my journal to bring more jerky next time.
As I hiked down the Rincon La Osa Trail, it threaded through overhanging gnarly plants that felt as tough as Texas mesquite trees. It became quite painful to walk through the plants and I picked up dozens of little scrape marks on my bare legs. For plants to survive the harsh winters, they must be tough. This trail is said to be popular for horseback riders, but I can't imagine that horses would take kindly to the sharp plants against their legs. The evidence of horses showed clearly, though, because the trail became a deep trench, frequently splitting into three or four lanes, each one a muddy, gloppy mess. I will avoid this trail in the future.
The water sources seemed a bit dirty through this part of the trail, but I finally conceded to drinking it. First, though, I treated it with iodine and left it in the sun until it reached close to 68 degrees, a necessity for killing Giardia.
I made the last trek to the Pine River Valley where I picked up the Piedra Stock Trail--the final trail that would take me to Williams Creek Reservoir near Pagosa Springs. While most of the trails I had walked thus far followed creeks up and down valleys to the Divide, the Piedra Stock Trail followed a less regular course. It went straight up and down hills rather than offering gradually graded switchbacks and it crossed perpendicularly to several small valleys. Rather than paralleling streams like most trails, this one forced me to remove my boots six or eight times, a practice that becomes tedious after a while. One stream crossing reached nearly to my shorts and moved so swiftly that I feared losing my balance. My walking staff more than earned its keep as it provided a third stabilizing point.
With about 8 miles to go, I set up camp in steady rain and swarms of mosquitoes. I pitched my tent on a slope to avoid pooling rain and hung my bear bag near by. From my campsite, I could see about 50 miles down the valley to distant mountains. Just as I prepared for taking a nice picture of this incredible view, my camera battery failed me. In all of my preparations, an extra battery was the only item that I forgot to purchase. Aaaarg! No more slides for this trip.
My last day proved to be the most mentally challenging, testing my topographic map navigation skills and my patience. Shortly after packing up camp, I passed by a scout camp of at least eight tents, my first reminder that civilization lay near. I enjoyed the trail, but felt glad that I would have a shorter day of hiking. My right knee had become very painful and I could no longer comfortably bend it.
In about six miles, I came to the first private property that I had seen in days. The trail used to cut right through the huge ranch. Now, hikers have to skirt the fence line, adding about two miles to the hike. The only trail that I saw went to the right along the fence. I followed it a short distance, but it led into dense trees and a rugged slope and then it disappeared entirely. At this point, I made the biggest mistake of the trip.
I decided to force my way into this rugged area in hopes of finding the correct trail higher up the hillside. I clambered up the hillside looking for a sign of a trail, occasionally finding a deer trail to follow. My sore knee became almost unbearable whenever I descended. As time passed, I became increasingly frustrated as my hopes of finding the trail diminished. After about three hours, I was still several miles from my destination, but the my guide book said that I should have reached the trail head by now. I could not walk down in the valley because private property butted up against the hillside. Thus, I resorted to navigating by topographic maps. I located a road on the map that looked to provide the quickest exit from this forest. I determined that the best approach was to maintain elevation and skirt the hillside until I hit the road. I climbed over fallen trees, crossed creeks, and brushed through patches of wet grass almost as tall as I am. I kept imagining that the road lay just around the next turn, but still it eluded me. Another three hours passed before I finally stumbled on the road. With great relief, I stopped to rest, hoping that a vehicle would come by and give me a ride to the valley floor, about three miles away. I felt exhausted and frustrated, knowing that if I had backtracked to find the proper trail, I would have been at a phone hours ago. Now, I faced the likelihood that I would have to camp another night before reaching a phone.
Two vehicles rambled up the road, but they were not going the direction in which I needed to go. Thankfully, the same vehicles came back down the hill a short while later. This time, I aggressive waved them to a halt and asked them if I could have a ride to the valley floor. The first vehicle sent me to talk to the second vehicle, which agreed to take me. As it turns out, they are from San Antonio, two hours from my home in Austin, so they seemed to feel comfortable with a stranger in their car. I told them about my hike and they seemed glad to help me out. They dropped me off at a payphone at the Williams Creek Reservoir Campground. Nice folks!
I called my mother and thankfully, she said she could come get me. I knew that the drive would take her over an hour so I broke out my maps again to figure out why I had gotten so lost. Finally, I discovered a tiny piece of information that I failed to see earlier: The trail had crossed to the other side of the valley from where I walked. I must have missed the turn-off before I hit the private property. Night fell while I waited for my mother to arrive. Still not comfortable sitting still, I hid my pack in the bushes and walked around the campground, finding the nice family who had given me a ride. After some conversation, I returned to wait for my mother by the phone. I don't know if she realizes how much I appreciated her picking me up on a moment's notice late at night. All day, I had longed to give my knee a rest and to eat salty food again.
Segment Seven - In Search of Acreage
The last segment of my summer journey was to buy an acre or two of property in Pagosa Springs. For some time, I had planned to find land there, but I feared that it would be too expensive. One subdivision, though, had lots of one-acre lots in my price range. The only catch is that the subdivision has no water source. Wells tend to yield sulfur water and no city water will ever be installed. Most residents haul their water in large tanks and store it in under-ground cisterns where it won't freeze. After a long day of looking, I decided on a one-acre property in a great location with five or six pine trees that far exceed the average height of Colorado trees. Half of the property lies on a hillside so the building area is limited. It will require building a substantial driveway to access it. These drawbacks helped get the price down to an amazing $4800--much more affordable than the average per-acre price in the area. With this objective accomplished, I headed home to Austin.
Segment Eight - Austin, Sweet Home
In contrast to an earlier extended trip, this time I enjoyed returning home. I felt proud that I had followed through on the urge to visit my grandmother, 1500 miles away. I had enjoyed the high school reunion, and I had completed my first five-day backpacking trip. I now had two weeks to prepare for my first year of teaching as a seventh-grade math teacher.
As I now finish writing this trip report, nine-months after this adventure ended, I find myself a week away from completing my first year as a teacher, and a mere month away from another great trip. My next trip may once again take me to San Diego to visit my grandmother, and it will certainly include more backpacking in Colorado. I hope to build a small writing studio on my Pagosa Springs property, thus establishing a new part-time residence to supplement my life as a Texan.
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