I once read that it’s important as an adventurer to engage in self-flagellation (aka elective suffer) in the outdoors. So that’s exactly how I found myself festering in a wet tent in the middle of a campground two miles from the trail where my roommate and I were supposed to be on.
Jacob Alexander showing off a tattoo of Flattop Mountain in front of Flattop Mountain Yampa, Colorado.
With one week between our summer jobs and semester my equally outdoorsy roommate Cullen Fisch and I decided to plan a backpacking trip. Hiking a section of the Colorado trail seemed like a winning plan until I came across a 30-mile loop in Routt National Forest near Steamboat Springs, Colorado. The photos google turned up looked remote and beautiful... a winning combination. So, we packed our bags and headed for Colorado.
We arrived in the town of Yampa, Colorado (gateway to the trail) at an ungodly time of 1:30am and decided to camp at a site just below the trailhead. Tired but optimistic we set up camp under the Milky Way. Personally, I was excited to try out a new bivvy that I had recently purchased to save weight on long backpacking trips. The fit was snug, and the warmth was next level, important things for nights that can drop below 40. Unfortunately, this joy lasted all of three hours, for that’s when I was woken up by the dripping wet inside of the bivvy. Turns out the thing collected so much condensation it was able to soak my sleeping bag... miserable! Still half asleep, the remedy to the problem was to take the bag and sleep in the car. Resting easy knowing that I had packed a tent for backup.
An hour later this is where Cullen found me looking cold and haggard with my face pressed against the foggy glass. With double the sleep I received he was eager to get us breakfast and head out on the trail, and we did just that.
All in all, we had no major setbacks and started on the trail with a blazing pace and unmatched optimism. This quickly devolved into the occasional exclamations like, “I’m so tired” and “my body hates me” and even “I want to die this hill is so steep” breaking through the white noise of our gasping for air. Quickly though, those were drowned out by the sheer beauty of the wilderness we were hiking through. No other humans for miles. No other tracks on the trail besides horse. We were alone with our thoughts and our kind company in the solitude of the mountains.
Mile after mile ticked by as stories were shared about life, love, and how to save the world. With zero cell service we could only count on a faint blue dot on a red line for navigation, and oh how fickle that would come to be.
After a quick break for lunch (bagged tuna), it was onto mile eight of our planned 15 mile day. Easy trails with low grade made for a fast pace and high moral considering the state of our sore bodies. We arrived at what seemed to be another trail hop and checked the blue dot to confirm. Confirmation sadness! Our little blue dot was around two miles from where we were supposed to be. As the thunder of a mid-afternoon storm rolled we looked and each other. More or less in shambles we talked out the options as the sheets of rain barreled towards us. By some crazy turn of fate there was a well-established campsite nearby. We scrambled to get our tents up and our gear dry as the sky’s opened up on us. A little trail magic perhaps, one of the nicest camp hosts we’ve ever met came out of nowhere and offered to help us get our tents up. Very soggy and thankful we accepted the help. After the rain subsided we officially met him... a man by the name of Willy. As we cooked dinner Willy came over to talk. He told us he travels around working odd jobs out of his converted camper trailer. The man lived freely and made it his priority to live outdoors where we only visit. A life Cullen and I were quite envious of
Our campsite after the rain had subsided.
As we ate dinner, Cullen and I talked over our options. We could hike the two or so miles back to the trail and just push on until we drop.
“Not the best option, but an option,” Cullen pointed out. He’d been feeling pretty bad due to a slight dehydration and altitude sickness.
Our second option was to hitch a ride back to the trail and the turn we had missed. This seemed like a better option in the long run, but still a lot of suffering on the part of Cullen.
Opinion three was my personal favorite: stay the night at the campsite and then wake in the morning and hitch hike all the way back to our car.
Turns out for all of the parties involved option c was the winner. We even talked Willy into taking us the first 10 of 71 miles.
The morning came earlier and colder than expected. Cullen was still asleep and could use the rest, so I went for a small hike to take pictures. When I got back we packed and went to Willy’s trailer to hitch a ride and start our day. He kindly offered us a tour of his trailer conversion and we obliged taking in as much knowledge of how to live off the grid as we could.
Cullen packs up camp as we wait on Willy to wake up and take us the first 10 miles of our journey.
The short 10 miles to where we were being dropped was full of good conversation and warm laughter. This helped boost our morale before an unpredictable 61 miles of hitch hiking.
Willy had told us that the road we’d be hiking on was well traveled, and after about ten minutes Willy proved to be right about the amount of traffic on this secluded dirt road. We heard a car off in the distance and turned to see a couple came up the road in a blue rav4. They kindly pulled over at the sight of our haggard bodies and desperate thumbs. Their names were Jeremiah and Carly and fit the bill of stereotypical hippies. As we found out they were headed up the hill to hunt for mushrooms... one of their favorite pastimes when the rain allows. As we got to talking they told us they were in the business of hemp and we’re pretty well off, albeit you wouldn’t be able to tell for their appearance. They lived in a small mountain town and put a lot of their earnings back into the community to benefit youth. Conversations of legalization of hemp, mushroom hunting, and the best way raise your kids in today’s world made the 10 miles seem like one. Before we knew it we had parted ways with wishes of good luck and a shared hit from an apple pipe (myself politely not included), courtesy of their hemp jobs. Stoke lifted and all downhill ahead of us our pace became fast.
Jeremiah and Carly
The miles started to tick by, and we joked about the lack of traffic on the road and how many miles it would be if no one came along. It was around that time that a old red Honda Accord came around the bend behind us. The thumbs went up and the smiles turned on, and the car pulled up alongside us. A woman of about 26 with the brightest of smiles asked us where we were headed.
“Yampa or as far as you’re willing to take us.” We replied in unison.
She kindly offered to take us all the way to Yampa. Her name was Jerrica, and like Willy she lived a life of no permanent home base. Just living free from adventurous job to adventurous job. She hailed from Wisconsin but had spent time in anywhere from Columbia to Colorado. Like our previous drive the talk was light, and we were once again offered Colorado’s favorite green. Cullen being the polite passenger indulged graciously. The ride turned out to be our largest help covering close to 30 miles, which flew by thanks to kind consideration and good vibrations. As we were arriving into the outskirts of Yampa I talked about how good a burger from the local cafe sounded this followed quickly by a shared look between Cullen and I. It was in this instant that we realized in that moment that we’d left our wallets in the car, so no burgers for us. Yet without hesitation our gracious driver offered money for food and a ride to the cafe. We politely turned her offer down as she’d done more than enough for us, and with that we departed the red Accord with smiles and new faith in the goodness of humanity.
The very generous Jerrica.
With more miles ahead of us the heat and realization of how beat down our bodies were settled in. An uphill climb met us and shortly after we started our first car came by... thumbs up and smiles to look less like murderers. Unfortunately, they didn’t buy what we were selling and drove on past. So, we walked on joking about how we must look to the cars that passed. It must have been pretty rough because the next three cars passed with similar results as the first. We started to think that the next 20 miles would have to all be hiked. That is until we saw a dirty Subaru Outback coming up the road.
“It’s a fucking Subaru Outback... there’s no way it can’t stop,” I exclaimed to Cullen who lost so much faith in people he didn’t turn around to throw up a thumb.
Miraculously, the Outback actually stopped and a burly man in a bandana with coonhound at his side asked where we were going.
“To the top,” we replied simultaneously.
Joe and his Subaru Baja.
He explained he could probably get us that far but one of us would have to ride in the bed of his Outback, naturally this task fell to Cullen. This left me to navigate the conversation and figure out if we were in crazy hands or not. Our diver turned out to be a log home plumber named Joe. A motorcycle man in appearance, but a teddy bear at heart. He spoke highly of his dog named Daisy who found refuge in my lap and comfort in my scratches. Meanwhile, Cullen was being tossed around what could barely be considered a bed. I checked on him with the occasional thumbs up both to see if he was okay, and to reassure him that we weren’t about to be driven to our untimely death. Back in the cab of the vehicle Joe blossomed into a very talkative man. We both shared our long-time love of the area and even some of the campgrounds.
“Number 11. It’s my daughters favorite. I come out here early and stake a claim to it just for her.” Joe said while looking off in the distance. He looked as if this spot meant the world to not only his daughter, but to him as well because it means they’re together.
So, along the way to the top we stopped and scouted his spot to check for vacancy. Unfortunately, the spot had been taken.
“Well let’s just check the post to see when they leave.” He said with a bit of sorrow in his voice.
We did just that and found that the occupants were leaving the same day. Joe decided to take us to the top and then come back down in hopes to catch them on his way out, and we did just that. A few rough miles and some sharp turn landed us back at our car. With one final goodbye to our last ride, this time devoid of anything extra, we settled into our car and breathed a sigh of relief.
Joe and his baby girl Daisy.
“We fucking did it. We actually fucking did it.” We both exclaimed through tired laughter.
“Now we just have to make it through these forest fires and we’ll be home free.” I said to Cullen and we pulled down the mountain road.
That’s exactly what we did. After a quick pizza lunch in Steamboat Springs, Colorado we headed rather close to some large forest fires and on home. Luckily, we had gotten good information from my father that lives in Denver about the fires, so we avoided them rather easily.
One of the fires that's been raging all across Colorado and the American West.
They say it’s not an adventure until something goes wrong, but amongst the failures in your plan you learn. You learn valuable lessons that carry you into your next journey. If you talk to me about any of my adventures, there’s never a big focus on what went wrong or how bad it sucked. You’ll hear tails of beautiful destinations and people who made the journey worth it. So yes, you have to experience some elective suffer. That’s what builds character and makes the memories you’ll never forget.
If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to Red Cross Wildfire Relief. Wildfires in the American West have devastated not only wild spaces, but those communities that live in the surrounding areas. So please consider donating today: Red Cross Wildfire Relief.
