The Colorado Trail Part I: Fear and Flora on the CT

The Colorado Trail: Morning View - July, 2025

The Colorado Trail: Starting Out

​Grateful for the clouds dialing down the sun’s heat, I hoist myself and my 35-pound pack one more step up Hope Pass. We’ve gained close to 3500’ of elevation in just a few short miles, and though we’ve encountered a few hikers and several groups of runners, it is now silent but for the cool breeze across the alpine tundra. My trekking poles are the only things keeping me from falling over at this point. When I stop to take a look around, I revel in the view of the valley we’ve just climbed out of: dark green conifers surrounding the navy lake in the far distance. I bring my gaze to the beauty right at my feet - wildflowers, so many varieties and hues: blues and purples, yellows, reds, whites and oranges.

Turning back to the narrow dirt trail, I count one - two - three - four, one - two - three - four, one step at a time towards the next of several more switchbacks. I don’t even hope for the summit until I’m standing on it. 

It is the first full day of our CT adventure, my 19-year-old daughter Charlotte and I. We started out last night from Twin Lakes, just south of Leadville, and hiked in a couple miles to set up camp by headlamp. It was a lighthearted evening and this morning it was a lark to set off on the trail. The lapping of waves on the lakeshore seemed a good omen, as did the beaver out for its morning swim. 

Our plan is to do 60 miles of what’s known as the Collegiate West. In its entirety, the Collegiate West is 80+ miles, starting at Twin Lakes and ending at Monarch Pass. This is only a portion of the entire Colorado Trail, which begins at Waterton Canyon in Denver and ends in Durango, a total of 567 miles. That’s 567 if you do the full Collegiate Loop, which consists of East and West branches. If you do just (!) the Collegiate East you do an entirety of 486 miles for a through-hike of the CT, and if you do just Collegiate West you do 491 miles. A “through-hike” is an end-to-end completion of a trail. What Charlotte and I are doing is “segment” or “section” hiking, where we are hiking specific portions of the trail. 

We make it to the summit of Hope Pass and pause to gaze at the expanse of peaks in every direction. We chat with a young woman who is a solo through-hiker. I’m impressed - not just that she’s taking this on, but taking it on alone. Descending the south side of the pass, the terrain is rocky and steep, and my quads cramp, making my unreliable legs slow to a snail’s pace - and this no longer feels like a lark. I’m laboriously picking my way across a talus field when a runner heading north gives us a smile and says “And this is why they call it the Rocky Mountains!” This makes me giggle and brings a little lightness to my step. A genuine and well-timed remark on the trail can literally turn a person’s day completely around. 

We’ve got a ways to go and my pace has slowed to the point that my patient and encouraging daughter looks at her watch and says nicely, but worriedly, “Mom, we’ve only gone one mile in the last hour!”  She takes some of the weight from my pack, I power up with a snack and some fluid, having burned through lunch some time ago, and she leads the way, me focusing on keeping her strong agile self in sight. The last couple of miles are pleasant, travelling rolling terrain through the woods, and we make it to camp before dark. We have some fun hanging out at the creek where we filter water, and after a beyond-delicious dinner prepared by gourmet Charlotte (gluten-free mac and cheese with rehydrated spinach, yellow squash and tofu) we turn in. We’ve clocked 15 miles for the day, and I’m feeling it, but think that surely the following days will not be as difficult as this one was.

Day Two and we’re off to an earlier start, hurriedly slurping our cold, uncooked oatmeal - just add water to the quick oats and dried fruit and choke it down as best you can. There are more passes to climb, and we get a view of the glacial turquoise of Lake Ann. The wildflower-laden alpine tundra continues to amaze us both.  We get just enough rain to put the rain covers on the packs, but as soon as we’ve zipped our rain jackets up, no more drops from the sky. 

I start looking forward to lunch roughly fifteen minutes after breakfast. Today, like most days, lunch is a packet of tuna (albacore or skip jack - variety is important!) - and let me tell you, the tuna juice in that packet is delicious when you’re on the trail all day. A gluten-free spinach tortilla with almond butter rounds out the two-course meal. This is actually scrumdiddlyumptious. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Post-lunch, the afternoon starts to drag, the day feels very long. Though the camp spots we come to late afternoon are tempting, we decide to push on a couple more miles more in order to get a jump on tomorrow’s climbs. 

In a very few minutes I’m silently cursing whoever built this section - obviously sadistic mountaineers who did not believe in switchbacks. We climb, climb some more, and I look ahead through the trees to see that we climb more. I am viscerally longing for flat terrain. At one point, I seriously fear that I will not be able to do this. I wonder how I’d get out of there if my body collapsed - helicopter? Since we don't have cell service I guess I’d just lay on the side of the trail for a few days. This is a strange feeling, because usually my unrelenting mind decides on a goal and my body gets us there. This evening, though, I’ve dug so deep into my physical reserves it feels like I’ve dug through my well and out the other side. I wonder if I’m doing permanent damage. I’m also worried about how slow I am, and that we won’t make it to camp “on time.” Charlotte tells me not to be concerned about when we make camp, and we agree to take frequent mini-breaks. I relax a bit, focus on one step at a time, and we pull into camp with plenty of light left in the sky.

As we eat dinner (Charlotte having prepared a magnificent meal yet again with rehydrated veggies, salmon and quinoa pasta) we see a mama moose and her young one taking a sunset snack stroll through the meadow just below our camp. It is a beautiful evening and I’m thankful and happy to be out here with Charlotte. Yet I can’t keep my fears about the next day out of my mind: will I be able to make it? 

Read: The Colorado Trail Part II: Botany and Apothecary on the CT

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Lake Ann

Charlotte - Summit of Lake Ann Pass