Colorado Trail

Snowy morning at Baldy Lake

After 353.1 miles, more than 65,000 feet of climbing, and a week of hard frosts, hail, sleet and even a bit of snow on the Colorado Trail, I had had enough.

I called an audible and headed back into civilization on Tuesday 9/19, after a particularly memorable 21-mile trek that took me up through the 12,611-foot pass below San Luis Peak, then sent me in a mad dash down the other side of the mountain and up again through the 12,383-foot continental divide in a largely unsuccessful effort to avoid a series of icy thunderstorms.

I originally had been toying with the idea of hoofing it the whole 28 miles down the mountain to the silver-mining town of Creede that night. But I didn’t want to deplete my headlamp battery in the dark, and I was cold and wet and concerned that I was flirting with hypothermia. So I ended up pitching an emergency trailside bivouac to escape some of the worst of the evening’s final storm.

Hard frost

Too much winter had arrived too soon for me. 

The mother of all my mistakes on the trail was seriously underestimating how hard the route would be for me.

Where I had planned to hike 20 miles in a day, I often could only manage half of that or, on one particularly enlightening occasion, a total of six miles.

As a lifelong sea-level resident, the trail’s elevation was a major challenge for me. During the first two weeks of my adventure, I often had to rest after as few as 25 paces at the higher elevations, to let my fluttering, oxygen-starved heart recover before it exploded. Over many of the uphill sections, I was lucky to average one mph. It wasn’t until Day 15 that I started feeling reasonably comfortable hiking at 11,000 feet.

Seriously frozen zipper

I also often found some of the trail’s steeper downhill sections to be almost as difficult and slow-going as the uphill ones. Many of the descents were boobytrapped with loose rocks and slippery, Grape-Nuts-sized granite gravel. Much of the trail surface has been tilled by years of foot, equestrian and mountain bike traffic. My trekking poles saved me many times as my feet regularly slid out from under me.

The harsh reality was that the distance I could travel in a day was inversely proportional to the trail’s elevation and to how steep it was. And much of the trail is elevated and steep, yo-yoing between 9,000 to up to more than 13,000 feet above sea level.

 Bear Grylls answer to frozen shoes

 One of the key consequences of overestimating my hiking prowess was that the trek was taking a lot more time to do than I had anticipated. I also ran short of food between resupply points on several occasions. There was enough of a calorie deficit that I lost 15 pounds during my trek.

Another more serious blunder I made was underestimating how cold it might get on the trail. It was almost 100 degrees on August 17, the day I started my SOBO hike in a Denver suburb.

But during the final days of my trek in mid-September, the nighttime temperatures regularly dropped below freezing, so that my tent was regularly sheathed in ice in the mornings. I wasn’t really equipped to cope with this sort of cold. At very least, I should had a warmer puffy jacket. In retrospect, I would have had a lot nicer weather window if I had started the hike at the beginning of August instead of the middle of the month.

One smart move I made was to trade my Chaco sandals for a pair of trail runners in Salida. I walked the first 253 miles of the trail to the town in the sandals (thus the trail name Chacoman) but decided to switch to the shoes after learning that it had already begun snowing at higher elevations.

Another smart move was to buy a serious Gore-Tex raincoat during a rest day in Frisco. I donated the paper-like Frogg Toggs raincoat I had been using previously to the hiker box at my motel. I decided to upgrade after a firehose-like torrential downpour flooded my campsite one night. Serious storms require serious rain-gear. I ended up wearing the Gore-Tex raincoat during most of rest of days of my hike. It not only kept out the wet but helped keep me warm.

Carrie, Tulsa, was borderline hypothermic but declined help

One of my dumber moves, considering how much precipitation there was during the final days of my trek, was forgetting to bring my rain kilt. Cold, wet legs and feet are no fun.

My glove liner/shells were very handy, though, so to speak. So kudos to me for remembering to bring those.

After my icy, mostly sleepless night on the slanted lumpy side of the mountain, I was exhausted when I finally arrived in Creede the following day.

As I checked into the Creede Hotel on that sunny afternoon, I knew I had taken this path as far as I was going to take it, at least for this year.

Saddle below San Luis Peak

But I was glad I had been able to add the 353.1 miles of this trail to my catalog of bucket-list adventures.

This was my first real backpacking adventure in more than 30 years, where I carried my water, all of my camping gear and up to eight days of food at one time (maybe 40 pounds total), and I learned from the experience.

One of my key takeaways was that for a high-altitude route like this it would have been better to have budgeted time to get acclimated before I started hiking. That would have saved me a lot of on-the-trail grief.

Trailside bivouac

The next time around, I also think I would try to do a better job of minimizing the weight of my pack.

While climbing up to 1,000 feet per mile, I could feel every ounce on my back and shoulders. Some of the stuff in my pack I never used. I should have left it at home. In the future, I don’t want to carry more than I absolutely have to.

My most picturesque campsite

New storm approaches over Continental Divide

Moose with calf ahead

Santiago via Caminos del Norte and Primitivo

The rain in Spain may or may not fall mainly on the plain.

But as I found out during a hike across the northernmost part of the country this spring, it definitely rains a lot on the coast.

In fact, by Day 3 of my adventure, I was so tired of battling the continual downpours and Spain’s slippery, adobe-like mud, that I was sorely tempted to to catch a bus south to switch to a drier route.

Glad I stayed the course, though, because after the precipitation eased on Day 4, I was finally able to enjoy the spectacular seascapes and other pastoral scenery for which this part of Spain is famous.

The food, wine, architecture—and the opportunity to meet so many kind and generous Spaniards and fellow hikers from all over the world—added to making this one of my most memorable adventures ever. I also enjoyed that I was able to live pretty darn large on a budget of anywhere from €30 to €50 per day.

The actual hike I did started in Irun, a Basque town on Spain’s eastern border with France. My route was a linkup of two of Spain’s major Catholic pilgrimage routes—the Camino del Norte and the Camino Primitivo. All of Spain’s camino routes eventually go to Santiago de Compestela, where the remains of the apostle James are reported to be buried in the cathedral. Some Catholics believe that by hiking one of Spain’s pilgrimage routes they will earn a place in heaven.

The Norte and Primitivo routes are considered to be among Spain’s most challenging caminos, because both require a lot of climbing. The elevation gain for the 827.2-kilometer linkup of the two routes was 66,437 feet. I hiked the routes May 12-June 17.

The Norte part of the route follows the Cantabrian Sea coastline 471 kilometers from Irun to Villaviciosa, Spain’s sidra (apple cider) capital. Some of the larger towns along the way include San Sebastian, Bilbao and Santander.

To access the Primitivo, Spain’s original Catholic pilgrimage route first walked in the 9th century, I hiked 44.5 kilometers south from Villaviciosa to Oviedo, where the Primitivo officially starts outside the city’s magnificent cathedral. Oviedo and Lugo are the two larger cities on this route. For me, both of these cities warrant another visit for additional exploration.

Camino veterans say the top cause of hiking failure is being overly ambitious at the beginning. Pushing too hard can result in blisters and other crippling foot and leg injuries. So I took my time trying to get used to hiking long days carrying my 17-pound backpack.

The longest I hiked was 24 miles in a single day, in an ill-advised effort to keep up with two younger and overly ambitious hiking partners. (One of these partners suffered such bad blisters on his feet that he had to take several days off to recover.) I took no rest (zero) days but did several short (nearo) days of 10 miles or less. I averaged 22.4 kilometers (or 14 miles) a day.

Route ferry

I credit the fact that I suffered no blisters or other foot or leg injuries to wearing Chaco sandals with Ininji toe socks. These sandals are very airy and comfortable for me. The vast majority of my shoe-or-boot-clad fellow camino hikers seemed to have at least some blisters. Some, their legs crisscrossed with colorful kinesiology tape, were limping in agony.

I was glad that I took the trouble to learn rudimentary Spanish before this trip, because English is not widely spoken on the Primitivo, not even among caminantes hiking the route.

I also noticed that there are not as many restaurants and bars on the Primitivo as there are on more popular routes, such as the Camino Frances—the camino I hiked last fall. There were plenty of places to eat and get fresh water on the French route. Not so on the Primitivo. One weekday morning on the Primitivo I had to walk 15 kilometers to get breakfast. In the smaller Primitivo towns, many of the markets and restaurants are shuttered on Sundays. So I learned to pack food and stay in albergues that provide meal service on the christian sabbath.

Like many other caminantes, I started this trek solo but found it easy to link up with hiking companions along the way, including Peter, a marketing executive and artist from the UK, and Jose, a retired judge from Brazil who spoke fluent Portugese and Spanish but zero English. I also hiked for a few days with a group of French caminantes. Only one of the group’s members—Claude—was fluent in English. 

In a testament to how safe Spain is, many of my fellow peregrinos on the Norte and Primitivo were single women.

In most camino towns on the Norte and Primitivo, bunks were available on a first-come, first-served basis for less than €10 at sometimes-spartan municipal albergues.

But I often booked slightly-more expensive beds in private albergues, preferring those that offered group dinners and breakfasts. The group dinners are a lot of fun and great for getting to know fellow peregrinos.

Marit, Peter

When I was hiking with Jose, we stopped most afternoons to enjoy a large, three-course peregrino lunch (almuerzo), including dessert and a bottle of wine, generally for €15 or less. We found that the peregrino specials in the smaller towns were often better than the ones in the larger cities. Lots of camino restaurants shut down for siesta between 4 pm and 8 

pm. So the wise pilgrims eat their big meals early when they can.

Some my favorite regular dishes included fabada (Asturian white bean and pork soup), caldo (Galician bean soup with cabbage and potatoes) and pulpo (octopus).

One of the trip’s most most memorable meals for me was served at the farm-based A Pocina de Muniz albergue in the tiny village of Vilar de Cas. The meal featured fabada, salad, the farm’s own beef, and artisanal cheeses with quince jam.

A Pocina is a three-generation family operation, and one of the nicest albergues I’ve ever stayed at.

Other albergues I enjoyed and recommend include:

Albergue de Peregrinos de Bodenaya. David and Celia are simply the sweetest hosts ever. This one is a donativo, meaning pilgrims are free to pay however much they like. Great vegetarian meal the night I was there.

Jose

Albergue de Peregrinos Villa de Grado. The nicest, cleanest municipal albergue I’ve stayed at. There was fresh fruit and cookies for hungry peregrinos, and a spinner to help dry hand-washed hiking clothes.

Albergue Piedad, Boo de Pielagos. The co-owned bar/restaurant was on the other side of the patio. Nothing hits the spot after a long hot hike than a cold cerveza. Estrella Galicia is very, very good.

Albergue de peregrinos de Santullan, Castro-Urdiales. Loved hostess Eloisa and her perro. Immaculate facilities. Well done, senora.

In Santiago, I stayed for several days at the Hospederia San Martin Pinario, a charming 16th century former Benedictine monastery. For €55 per night, I got a private room with a private bathroom, including an all-you-can-eat breakfast. It’s right next to the cathedral. It was the perfect place to catch up on my naps after I picked up my compestela, or certificate of completion.

Pro tip:  If you do this route, don’t forget the rain gear.

Next on the Spanish bucket list for me: the 962-kilometer Via de la Plata, starting in Seville, March 2024.

Eat, sleep, hike! 

Camino de Santiago, Oct. 1-Nov. 5, 2022

 

Oct. 1 start St. Jean Pied de Port

November 5, 2022, will go down as one of my most memorable days ever, and not just because it was my 70th birthday:

It was also the day I arrived in Santiago de Compestela, Spain, after completing the 780-kilometer Camino Frances hike from St. Jean Pied de Port, France.

Walking this Catholic pilgrimage route, an effort I started on Oct. 1, was my greatest and most enjoyable adventure ever, and I highly recommend it to all, religious believers and skeptics alike.

At least to some Catholics, by completing this trek to Santiago—where the remains of the apostle St. James are reputed to be buried in the magnificent cathedral—pilgrims earn a place in heaven. This explains why millions of pilgrims, or peregrinos, have hiked this route over the centuries.

Nowadays, some pilgrims hike the camino for a variety of secular reasons, including for the adventure and the physical challenge of it. I did it for the adventure, physical challenge and for spiritual reasons. The fact that at least part of my motivation was spiritual qualified me to receive a compestela certificate from Catholic Church authorities after I completed the trek.

My favorite sections of the hike were the climbs through the Pyrenees and the trek across the meseta—the 220-kilometer, mostly flat plains between Burgos and Astorga—where the views were particularly memorable and awe-inspiring. 

I also enjoyed visiting many of the Catholic churches, monasteries and convents that the camino passes in virtually every trailside city and village.

Some of the churches offered special evening masses for pilgrims. Although I am not a Catholic, I attended these services regularly and appreciated the blessings offered by the presiding priests.

One of the most interesting peregrino masses I attended was in the small meseta village of Hornillos del Camino. There the priest blessed me three times, first with the sign of the cross on my forehead, followed by a sprinkling of holy water and then a palm on the top of my head. The priest’s fiery female assistant, who was wearing a medieval-looking homespun outfit, meanwhile, told the peregrinos that the Freemasons were the enemy of the Church and God, and that the cross was the llave, or key, to heaven. She also talked about how important she believed relics from Christ’s crucifixion were to the church. 

I had the good fortune to drop by a trailside church on the approach to Carrion de los Condes, another camino village, just as an extremely talented peregrino tenor was singing from his pew, filling the cavernous stone dome with the sweetest of melancholy French hymns. To me, he was in the same league as Placido Domingo. It was an unforgettable performance.

The vast majority of the pilgrims and Spaniards I met during my trek were kind, courteous and helpful souls. Most wished me a “buen camino” as we passed.

I was especially impressed to discover that many women found Spain safe enough to walk the camino alone.

I was thankful that I learned some Spanish before starting my trek, because many workers in camino albergues, stores and restaurants do not speak English.

I walked each of the 1,114,000 steps of the camino in a pair of Chaco sandals, in daily installments of up to 19 miles.

Sandals might not work for everybody. In fact, the vast majority of my fellow peregrinos were hiking in boots and shoes.

For me, sandals are the more-comfortable option, however. With them, I avoided the blisters and tendonitis issues that seemed to plague many of my shoe-wearing fellow travelers.

One attractive feature on the Camino Frances is that there is a vast array of inexpensive places to stay and eat along the trail. I tried to avoid the cheapest alburgues for fear of bedbugs (my friend James picked some up somewhere) but still rarely paid more than 15€ a night for a bunk.

On many evenings, I dined at restaurants serving pilgrims’ specials. The standard pilgrim’s menu consists of a starter, entree and dessert, with bread and wine, for anywhere from 11€ to 15€. The pilgrim-friendly restaurants usually offer several choices for each course. Only one of the pilgrim’s meals I had—in Astorga—was truly wretched. Most were at least wholesome and filling. A few were truly excellent. I had the best luck finding great meals and albergues by relying on the recommendation of  albergue hosts.

The greatest camino-survival advice I received during my trek was offered by a young member of a commune-like farm that was providing snacks on a donation-only basis to peregrinos along the route one gray day. It was raining and my hiking companion was complaining.

“It’s a beautiful day,” the young man said, however.

“Don’t fight it. Go with the flow.”

Seemed liked the best attitude to me.

Bridge site of legend that inspired Cervantes' Don Quixote

Photo: Alfredo R

Pyrenees

One of many great group meals

Sandals not great in mud

The meseta

Gandalf?

She's crying

Cruz de Ferro, where peregrinos unload pebble representing the burdens they've carried with them

Dropping my pebble

Many ancient churches along the camino

Santiago!

Hiked much of way with James. UK. left, and Alfredo, Florida