Slip Slidin' Away

A little over three weeks ago it was snowing here in Colorado but the past few days we were treated to daytime temperatures above 90 degrees. After a long, cold winter, the weather warmed up very quickly. Now spring runoff is in full swing.

Dave and I decided to escape the city heat and take a drive in the mountains. We ended up near the Moffat Tunnel, a railroad and water tunnel that cuts beneath the Continental Divide near Rollinsville and emerges six miles west near Winter Park.

At this location on the eastern side of the Continental Divide is the James Peak Wilderness Area. Neither of us had hiked here and decided to check out the trail. Since we hadn’t planned a full-blown hike when we left, we did not bring our hiking boots or backpack or any of the other amenities we typically consider necessary if we are planning to go any distance. We did bring along our trusty sidekick, Tonka.

The wilderness trailhead entrance sported a sign proclaiming, “GET MUDDY! Please stay on trails and hike through mud, water and snow rather than around…” A mere 20 feet into the hike and already we had muddied our white sneakers. The trail dried out for a while but off in the distance we could hear the roar of cascading water, a sure sign the runoff was high. Soon enough we found ourselves immersed in an area wet with mud, with small feeder creeks tumbling downhill toward South Boulder Creek. We slogged through it all, grateful to be able to cross some of the creeks on makeshift bridges and risers that were built by the local chapter of the Colorado Mountain Club.

Next we came to a creek that was running fast and was a bit too deep for our silly little sneakers. Just a short distance up the hill were three small trees that had fallen across the creek; I suggested we take turns crossing on the logs. I went first and called Tonka, who had no problem running straight through the current. Then Dave crossed and walked off in a different direction.

Tonka noticed right away that we were no longer hiking together as a team. Wanting desperately to catch up with his best buddy, he lunged against his leash at the same time I was attempting to navigate a particularly muddy uphill section. I yelled at Tonka, my left foot slipped, and suddenly I realized that gravity had gotten the best of me.

Have you ever experienced a fall that seems to happen in slow motion? In painfully leaden movements, I dropped Tonka's leash, reached in vain to grasp a small bush just to the left of me, watched my not-so-white sneakers lurch out in front, then let out a loud “ooofff” sound as the backwards impact forced the air from my lungs. The next thing I felt was the cool gushing sensation of mud on my backside, down my legs, and along the side of one arm.

Tonka bolted away, leaving me to wallow in the mud as he ran off to reunite with his favorite person. Well, there you have it. I was unhurt, except for the slight bruise to my ego as Dave turned and saw me sitting all gooey and muddy in the midst of a spring runoff mess.

That "GET MUDDY!" sign flashed before my eyes. Never did I intend to take the advice quite so literally. Had I followed the instructions in that sign and not strayed from the trail, I probably would not have found myself in this situation. Not only was I muddy, now I was also guilty of breaching wilderness trail etiquette.

After I had righted myself, with a hand up from Dave, we walked a little further until the trail disappeared beneath banks of dirty snow. At that point we decided that we already had about as much fun as we were going to, so we reversed course back to the car and our picnic lunch.

We agreed to return and try out the trail again, perhaps in August when it’s completely dry, or maybe September when we can fully appreciate the autumn gold that is sure to be seen, thanks to the many stands of aspen along the trail.

Next time I'm staying on the trail. And next time, Dave can manage the dog for the entire hike.