8/8-10/03 Lakes of the Clouds, San Isabel NF, Sangre de Cristo Range
Humans: Rob, Lori, Kenny, Madi
Canines: Kaiser, Sophie, Bailey, Charlie and Harley (great, we are outnumbered)
After the resounding success of our jaunt up Mt. Champion, we decided it was a go for backpacking (which is good considering our investment in gear) and organized our next trip, this time we would be including a few more victims though. BWAAaaahhahahHAhaaaa (this is my diabolical laugh for my then 8 y.o. niece who found her first trip ever to be somewhat diabolical). Really, where to start on this trip. The fact it was my very young nieces first trip with a backpack? The fact it was our first trip with Lori’s brother Kenny? The fact we had five stinkin’ dogs with us? I don’t know either. This has all of the ingredients for some serious calamity, and serious calamity we would have, albeit from a completely unpredicted element.
I guess I will just start at the beginning. We grabbed Madi and Kenny Friday afternoon post school and work and headed directly to the trailhead. Lori had heard of this little trip from a redneck friend of hers who was into hitting trails on horseback. This was my first, but not last, incursion into the Sangre de Cristo wilderness area, and area I would fall head over heels in love with. So, with four humans and two Chinese Cresteds (Bailey and Charlie) in the front and three 60 – 80 lb Sheppard Xs in the back, we hit the road in my lovely ’94 Bronco (rockinest truck on the planet, and creakinest). We blasted through Westcliffe right around dusk and were doing an improvised bivouac just north of the parking lot in a spot used by outfitters (we were kind of lucky to find this as we set up tents in the gloom and then cooked in the dark).
Incidentally, we also learned of yet another quirk manifested in one of the dogs, and maybe the worst one of all, really. Charlie, our seven pound CC and the love of Lori’s life, just up and disappeared right when it got dark. Kenny and I were having a wee drop when a panic stricken Lori began hollering for Charlie. In seconds we were all up and lunging into the gloom searching for a tiny, tiny dog. Desperation was setting in as the moments ticked by and I was beginning to get seriously concerned, first for Charlie, second for Lori and thirdly for me, cause I just didn’t know what Lori would do to me if we lost that dog. Did I mention she is pretty attached to him? That is still an understatement. After an interminable period, Kenny reemerged from the trail to the parking lot where he had found Charlie sitting in his teenieness next to the tire of our Bronco. All of our dogs are rescues, and Charlie’s story is probably the saddest for I know he was abused and neglected. He is a seven pound dog for chrissakes and without a doubt the sweetest dog on the face of the earth. I will stop here before I go into a maniacal tirade on what I would do with his tormentors. Suffice it to say, our pup has some abandonment issues and is NOT fond of sleeping outside. He loves walks. He can hike the heels off any of us. But, when the sun goes down he had better be on the sofa watching TV or in a vehicle headed that way or he will take things into his own hands. Now, we didn’t quite understand this little penchant to flee, but we would by tomorrow evening. With Lori and Charlie and Bailey safely tucked into the tent, Kenny and I policed up our area and finished our evening cordial and it would be an early day.
Up before the sun, but not of my own volition, I start chores and concentrate on making coffee. I don’t carry an alarm when I camp, and usually don’t even pack a watch. I just don’t care. I am not really one for schedules and destinations. I like walking in the woods is all. So, when the big dogs woke me up, again, I just stayed up. I will quickly describe a chronic problem I am having with my larger two mutts and it concerns housing the weenies. I am a softy and all the dogs sleep in our room, I hate to admit but the little guys actually sleep on our bed, mostly on me. Lucky me. The big ones have soft warm beds of their own. Obviously, out in the field things are drastically different and conditions much deteriorated for Soph and Kaiser. I tried my first shelter for them at this base camp by making a lean-to with a nylon tarp and trekking poles. I thought it was sweet. They apparently did not and promptly knocked it down. They then milled and milled and milled around the campsite until I got up to deal with them. I gave up on the shelter and tried to snuggle them under the modest vestibules of the tent, which mostly worked except they keep pushing more and more against me as the night wears on and put unnecessary pressure on my tent wall. While not interested in timelines/schedules etc. I am totally anal about my gear. I don’t know which is stressed more, the stitching or me. Probably me. I don’t sleep and fend them off me all night. It is still this way as I write. I have some great ideas, but will need a sewing machine to work them out. And R&D capital (send money).
Being at the trailhead this early in the morning, we have a decadent breakfast of sausage and eggs. I like this system. Soon though, we are packed and out on the trail. Like most hikes in the Sangres, the stomp to Lakes of the Clouds (hereon LOC) is a jaunt down the rainbow trail until the intersection with the trail going up. Most trails follow the same basic profile, varying by degrees, of up, then less up, then steeply up and topping out in alpine bowls with nice little lakes in them. The LOC trail is quintessential in this respect. The bottom portion is a bit more grueling because it is on 5+” loose cobble while it ascends steeply. Madi is not impressed, but bravely soldiers on.
We spend several hours mucking our way up this sort of trail and start to level out, thankfully, in some dense forest. Always vigilant for other hikers and outfitters, we keep a keen ear at all times lest we cause some unforgivable transgression (i.e. an unsolicited mobbing of any unwary soul unfortunate enough to catch us with the dogs unleashed). Hark! What is that I hear? Voices. But, the foliage is dense and the trail is twisty so we can’t see who is coming. We leash ‘em up and march on for another 10 minutes before finally sending Kenny up the trail a ways to see what we were heading into. I know this is wrong, but having four dogs on a leash is a pain in the ass and I want to set them loose so I can focus on the trail. Within a minute or so Kenny is on the two-way (always a fun toy with brothers and nieces) saying pack animals are on the way down and we should haul off the trail. We oblige. The foliage being uncommonly thick in this little section, we can only get about 8 or 10 feet off to the side, which I am thinkin' is plenty. In retrospect, I just don’t know what went wrong and if we were to blame or what, but we definitely played a part in ruining someone’s day.
We wait patiently as a nice little family emerges on the trail. Dad is a nice fellow leading two llamas. I watch in impressed silence as they lead these animals which carry all their gear. They have coolers, chairs, big bags of big food. I am slightly jealous and question my own methods. Mom is likewise a pleasant sort leading her llama. Preceding the mother comes the young daughter, 13 at most and very cute. Her llama, though, is a might skittish. Safely in the middle is the young son, around 9 or 10 I would estimate. His llama is a might more skittish. I in turn tense up, sensing something. Dad is past, the daughter is passing, Kenny is a few yards up the trail and adjacent to the young son. Mom is bringing up the rear. I am speaking to the dogs in a low calming voice to keep them still and quiet. Lori has her hands full with Charlie, the most vocal of the group in general, but he is being relatively quiet. As the daughter passes Charlie gives the slightest little huff. I can see the eye of the daughter’s llama loll around in its head. I see the whites of its eye right as it bucks. The young sons llama sees the other one buck and it decides to bolt. I say, out loud, “oh sh**”. Dad and mom are shouting orders. The boys llama runs directly into the rump of the girls and they both buck and bolt. The kids hang on valiantly to the leads and are dragged mercilessly along the large rocks consisting of the trail. My jaw drops. We all stand their in petrified silence as we witness the perils of a llama revolt. I quickly tie the dogs to a tree and drop my pack. I head out to inspect the carnage and seek survivors in need of first aid. I encounter the most serious injury a few steps away. In a heap, a punctured soda hissing and spitting its contents nearby, lies the defeated corpse of plastic store container, its payload of leftover potato salad disgorged nearby. The trail is littered with gear and food for 10 yards, two young children are lying bloody in the dust, tears streaking their grimy cheeks. The father is administering reassuring words and assessing damage. The mother is holding the lead of the only remaining llama. It all happened fast, and we were all shocky. I ask what I can do to help. The father answers, somewhat sheepishly, not to worry, they would be fine. I am dubious. The children are calming and obviously just banged up a little, which is a great relief. I see the loads of four llamas and yet they only had one llama left. What would they do? Apparently, the animals will remember their way to the trailer and head down and wait there. That is three miles away on a crappy trail. I am reassured they require nothing of me and I reluctantly head off.
It doesn’t take long to catch up with everyone and we have a quick pow-wow regarding what we just saw. It was here that I learn one of the llamas headed right at Kenny and Madi and was within a few inches of provoking him to mounting a defense of some sort. We all quickly come to the conclusion that while having llamas carry your gear is a tempting notion, a backpack generally will not kick your ass and then run down the trail leaving you alone in the woods bleeding.
The remainder of the hike up is challenging, though it passes easy for me while I continually thank my lucky stars I was not in llama smack down families plight. Madi, on the other hand, is suffering greatly and the tears are flowing freely. Now, I will say right here and now, I think everyone at one point or another has cried or had to choke back some tears while on a big trek with a pack. You might not admit it, but you have. So, I didn’t think much of Madi’s plight, I just understood. To her credit, she sucked it up and made it to the campsite making us all VERY proud.
So, here we are at the lake and it is gorgeous. Just what I was picturing, though campsites are looking a little thin (another concordant theme I will notice at most of these alpine lake destinations). So, like I said, here we are and now I am noodling around trying to find a campsite. To the north is hopeless, I can see by just looking and I want to head over to the southeast side, but there is a problem. As I stumble along I run right into an amorous couple who rode up on horses. Luckily, they were fully clothed and just as fortunate, they were a little pie-eyed after drinking a bottle of wine at altitude. I slipped off and rejoined my peeps. We waited a little longer, making some racket and getting ourselves into view to tactfully announce our presence, which worked. Shortly thereafter, we made a short traverse by their little spot and found one of the best campsites ever. A spot so good, in fact, that Madi readily admitted the suffering on the way up was well worth the destination, albeit I softened her up a little with hot cocoa. This is not always the case and I was verily relieved that the wee one felt this way on her first ever trip. In my notes, I have this as a definite “would go back” and in fact we did return.