Don't Get Old
Are limits meant to be challenged or obeyed? The answer depends on individual experience. I tend to be cautious, so I stay within my limits. Tyler, however, often has a better sense for which limits can be pushed a little. For this, I am grateful, because he has created so many adventures for us! One of our biggest was completing the Gunnison Route hike, the subject of today’s blog post!
Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/sD5zyHv1vYX2t8mx5
May 25th, 2024 - Dakotas Day 2
“Don’t get old,” my parents always told me. They groaned this phrase as their bodies ached from a long day’s work. They muttered this with a frown as they received an unwanted diagnosis from the doctor. My college professor once said that Americans fear aging because we have no constructs to do it successfully. In other countries, elders are revered and respected. When elders cannot care for themselves, they live with their children. America handles things differently. In my hometown alone, there are five nursing homes. According to my professor, the elderly in America are largely ignored because they can no longer contribute to America. In a capitalist society, only those who turn society’s gears garner attention.
This might be too bleak to be entirely true. I hope so. Yet, growing up with adults joking, “Don’t get old!”, I find that I’ve internalized the grimness. Unconsciously, Tyler and I have decided to make the most of life while we are young. You never know what the future holds.
Now, is this all a theatrical monologue to justify a scary hike that we did in Colorado? Probably. But hey, we’re young. Stupid things are what young people do.
My heart was beating fast with anticipation as we took our first steps onto the trail. To our right, a raven perched on a bench by the visitor center. It turned a glittering eye towards us, morning sunlight gleaming down its long beak. Shining eye still watching us, the raven let out an ominous caw. Then, it turned to the window and pecked its own reflection.
The clunks of the raven’s beak against glass echoed out into the canyon in front of us. Under the heavy clouds, a brilliant sunrise turned the sky pink. By the time our trail dissolved from asphalt into dirt, the pink had retreated into dull grey. Around us, the world was waking up. Our hike had begun.
We had done our research on the Gunnison Route hike. Going into it, we knew it was an ambitious undertaking. Gunnison Route is open only by permit. A large part of the day previous had been waiting in line to procure one of 15 slots to hike the trail. After we were successful, a ranger held an orientation to educate us about the trail. Having read plenty about it online, this information was familiar. The Alltrails description for the Gunnison Route says, “Proceed cautiously on this trail. This technical route is not a hike, and is recommended only for experienced mountaineers and climbers.” The National Park Service website features a more bland descriptor: “This route is recommended to persons attempting their first inner-canyon hike; however, it is still very strenuous.”
The Gunnison Route is only 1.7 miles. It begins at the top of the canyon and marches itself right down to the roaring Gunnison River. This is what makes it so strenuous. The elevation drop is 1,881 feet (practically straight down) over sliding rock and heavy boulders. Because the trail is so steep, rock slides are a concern. If a hiker dislodges a rock on the trail, they are to shout “Rock!” down the trail to warn anyone below. If you manage to avoid head trauma from falling rocks, your route back to the top is the same as going down. 1,881 feet straight up.
We are day hikers with desk jobs. We don’t train for our hikes. The highest elevation in the state of Ohio is 1,549 ft, so how could we? There’s nothing in Ohio that could compare to Colorado. I was pretty sure that Gunnison Route was pushing our limits. The first third of the trail was steep switchbacks. With each twist and turn, hikers are afforded another tantalizing view of the river far, far below. I am convinced those switchbacks are just to filter out the weak of heart. Once the unconvinced hikers turn back, the trail encounters an 80-ft “shortcut” down a wash. Out of the kindness of their hearts, the National Park Service has provided a chain, attached to a tree, upon which hikers can cling when they slip. Half of the tree’s roots have washed out over the years. I’m not sure how the chain maintains its integrity, but it was sturdy enough for us.
On the Gunnison Route, it’s not a matter of if you slip, but when. The trail will bring you to your knees, literally. In one instance, the rocks slid out from underneath me and sent me skidding down the slope. I banged my left knee pretty well and bruised my ego too. Colorado hates my left knee. The last time I was in Colorado, I slipped on a dry rock while crossing a creek in Rocky Mountain National Park. I’m pretty sure I fractured something. Now here I was back in Colorado and banging up the same knee. When I finally managed to stop sliding down the rocky trail, I braced my feet and just sat there. Far, far below, the Gunnison River glittered gleefully. I bet that river likes watching people try to get down this trail. What a jerk.
After that, I did most of the Gunnison Route backwards. I crawled backwards down the slippery stone slope. I crept over boulders and around fallen trees. I became an amateur geologist as I came nose-level with every single rock on the trail. Many of the stones had flakes of aluminum in them, which I found interesting. I looked pretty dumb, but I didn’t care. It was the Gunnison Route. We were just trying to get back in one piece.
Just when we thought our knees couldn’t take another slope, we made it to the river. Up close, the Gunnison River was green, deep, and cold. The top of the canyon was golden with slices of sunlight through the clouds. The greenery nestled around the river was vibrant with life. Our mood was jubilant. We had made it to the river. Looking up at the steep spires around us, our accomplishment felt magnificent. We had challenged ourselves. We did it.
A tent had been tucked under a pine tree not far from the trail’s end. A couple was camping at the edges of the river. As we stretched and rehydrated, the husband emerged from the tent like a bear fresh from hibernation. His beard and hair were tousled. Around their camp, their belongings were scattered on every stump and stone. It was quite untidy, actually. Had a black bear rummaged through their things in the middle of the night? Or were they just that messy? It was a mystery we never solved.
What goes down must go back up, and so did we. Our route back up the canyon took less time than the descent. It surprised us. With the roughness of 1,881 ft down unsteady rock piles, we had expected our return to be horrendous. Let it be known that crawling up a mountain is easier than crawling down it! We made great time on our ascent and soon reached the top, exhilarated, tired, and very proud of ourselves. We succeeded in completing our hardest hike. What a milestone!
The rest of our day was spent journeying. We stopped at the Museum of the Mountain West, an open-air museum set up like an Old West town. I especially enjoyed the fully-stocked mercantile. We mailed a postcard at a beautiful post office nearby, then drove for ages. I had been working on rehydrating ever since Gunnison Route, so some obvious issues arose about halfway through the drive. We were in the middle of nowhere, and convenient trees were sparse. Plus, it was cold out. In a tiny town of maybe 50 people, a small store became my respite. The sign on the restroom door declared, “Restroom for paying customers only.” While the friendly clerk at the counter hadn’t mentioned this when he pointed me in the right direction, I felt guilty anyways. I ran back out to the car, borrowed Tyler’s wallet, and bought myself a $13 anklet. It was the most expensive bathroom break I’ve ever taken!
That afternoon, we made our way to Mesa Verde National Park, where we took a 3-mile hike to work out the kinks in our muscles. The waves and curves of the sandstone formations reminded us of Utah. Nestled in crevices of sandstone cliffs, well-preserved indigenous houses have stood for centuries. These are the icons of Mesa Verde, and they certainly didn’t disappoint! We explored the displays and houses, looking forward to the tours we had scheduled in the park the next day.
When the sunlight retired for bed, we sought out ours. Our Airbnb that night was situated on a splendid desert ranch. Behind the elegant ranch house, a ridge of red sandstone cut a dark outline in the star-studded sky. Crickets chirped under our open bedroom window. The rich smell of woodsmoke drifted through the screen. The vast desert silence wrapped around us like a quilt. It was wonderfully peaceful. Bodies worn from our long day, we gratefully sought rest. Today, we had made the most of life while we were young. You never know what life will hold, after all.
Hiking Trails/Points of Interest:
Petroglyph Point Trail
Drive the Mesa Verde loop to get nice opportunities to check out village ruins and learn about the park
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