3. To the Trailhead

Friday, July 16, 1982; Denver, Colorado

Tom's journal:

We got to Denver Monday afternoon, July 12.  Jack and Sarah were their usual hospitable selves.  

We took a short climb Wednesday morning in Eldorado Canyon.  Joe, Greg and I went up the first pitch of a 5.6 climb and rappelled down.  Good time.  Steve Scott took us out there, and then flew back to Tullahoma to see his dad.  

Greg and I went to the Denver World Theatre Festival Wednesday night and saw "The Mayor of Zalamea" performed by the British National Theatre Troupe.  It was about the 16th century Spanish concept of honor which, like pride, is a very strange bird.

Afterwards, we met Doug and Joe at Josephina's, and then went to Soapy Smith's, both nice places.  Denver has a lot of offer.

We've decided to take a 20-day hiking trip into the Wind River Range in the Bridger National Forest and Shoshone National Forest in Wyoming.  Twenty days.   Whew.  

We began getting our gear back together, collecting maps, etc.  Last night was a flurry of packing, checking lists, cursing and mild panic.

We finally got everything loaded into and onto the Subaru, which Greg had pulled around to the back of Jack's house. We took a group picture this morning, and prepared to depart.  The car wouldn't start.  I don't know why that surprises me.

Almost ready to depart Jack's house for the Wind River Range

We've got untold amounts of gear.  Each of the four packs looks as if it should be carrying a person rather than vice versa.  I think the Subaru tested the weight of its load, realized there were still four animate degenerates to add to it, and ordered the fuel pump to self destruct.  A cunning vehicle.

Greg is now shopping in the renowned Yellow Pages for a fuel pump. There's probably not one this side of the Mississippi.

So there it sits, leaking gasoline onto Jack's concrete from the wound where once was a fuel pump, chortling over another successful delay.

I don't know why the car should dislike us; we rescued it from the ignominy of a life at Conley's Used Shit Heaps in Muscogee.  Whatever happened to gratitude?


Now it's 7:15 pm, and we're at the Stockman Bar in Walden, Colorado.  Joe has been here before.  We also stopped at the Longbranch in Granby, where Greg had a taco and I had a waitress agree to mail two postcards, and we took pictures of the Liars Lair ("Food, Booze and Bull") in Rand.  We're about 30 or 40 miles from the Wyoming border.  It's about sunset.  The drive here has been beautiful.  We crossed the Continental Divide twice, the more spectacular being at Berthoud Pass, elevation 11,307 feet (or 11,314, depending on which sign you believe.)

The Stockman Bar is populated by about eight guys, average age about 108; average number of teeth, 4.  The barmaid is a mid-30ish blonde who seems to be very good natured, which is fortunate.  A guy at the bar stuck out his tongue at her and waggled it crudely.  She just laughed and handed me a Coors in a gooseneck bottle.    

The scenery is magnificent; ridges of large mountains surround us, running mostly north-south at this point.  We're running along the western edge of the Divide, it appears.

 

Saturday, July 17, 1982; Wyoming

Tom's journal:

We crossed into our sixth state about an hour before dark on a lonesome road.  We arrived at Saratoga (pop. 2400; elev 6787) about 10 last night.  We stopped at a 7-11 to ask directions to the nearest campground.  We slept - our first night in the tents - near a lake thoughtfully provided by the State of Wyoming and the City of Saratoga.

We reached Rawlins at 10:30 in the morning, at the intersection of Highway 287 and I-80.   We went to the City Market and bought some late supplies:  Provolone cheese, Italian Dry Salami, raisins, and bubble gum.  We're still 260 miles from Dubois, where we intend to start our hike.

Not so many rugged peaks in this area; foothills, fewer trees, cattle.  Two-lane road, no shoulder to speak of.  I pray for fish.

We're heard a good bit of country music on the radio out here.  Also juke boxes in bars, and hummers on the street,  How about that.

We're outside Muddy Gap Junction, on a very flat, sandy stretch.  It's barren except for little tufts of grass, and small shrub-like plants.  This road is the only visible evidence of civilization, along with a fence, about three feet high, 20 yards from pavement.  Somebody put a road through somebody else's ranch, it looks to me.

We just passed through Jeffrey City (population 750, elevation 6324 feet.)  It's the home of Wyoming's first uranium mill, Western Nuclear.  Too bad.  It appears all 750 residents live in a subdivision covering 3 or 4 acres.  Not a tree in sight.  We're in the Great Divide Basin, drained by the North Platte.  It's still dry and sandy.

Next town now.  Lander.  The local radio station is playing on the Subaru's radio.  It's 68 degrees.  We got our first glimpse of snow-covered peaks in Wyoming about noon.  This is a huge basin, carved into hills with sheer rock walls.  There is little water here, probably from snow and spring rains.  Most of the land is a medium brown.  Around the water are narrow patches of green.

We're really packed into the car.  "We don't get into the car.  We don't sit in it.  We wear it," was Doug's description.

We're between Lander and Dubois now.  The radio is playing The Grand Old Opry.  How about that.

We're very near Dubois.  This is beautiful country.  Mountains to the left are multi-layered.   Canyons to the right are multi-colored.  The Wind River looks like a good canoe trip.  

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

We're in Dubois (population 868, elevation 6917,) in the Outlaw Saloon.  Joe is mapping out a tentative hiking plan that gets us out of the woods on August 5th:

July 17 - Trail Head
July 18 - Ross Lake
July 19 - Mile Long Lake
July 20 - Downs Lake
July 22 - Klondike Lake
July 24 - Noel Lake
July 27 - Alpine Lake
July 29 - Peak Lake
July 31 - Baker Lake
Aug 1 - Bear Lake
Aug 3 - Simpson Lake
Aug 5 - Trail Lake and out

We have called Jack and various parents and left this schedule.  They'll use it to look for us if we're not out on time.  

Tonight we'll repack all our gear and hit the trail tomorrow morning.  

Everyone to whom Greg and I have spoken assures us there is an abundance of trout in these parts.  I just spent my last cent on lures, so there better damn be some fish.

In Lander, Greg and I went to a small bait shop, equipped mostly with fly fishing gear.  Having brought only my stiffer spinning rod, I'm going to have to depend mostly on lures.  Greg's collapsible rod has interchangeable butts that will take either kind of reel.  A one-year, non-resident Wyoming fishing license is $30.

I'm excited.  Twenty days of catching fish and wandering around these mountains should be quite an experience.  We're planning to climb Gannett Peak (13,804 feet,) the highest point in Wyoming.

We pitched camp near the beginning of the trail last night.  The mosquitoes are going to be a factor on this trip.   


 


 


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