Weminuche

A bright flash followed by a sputtering orange light that incandesced, guttered, and extinguished as the sharp crack of thunder bellowed through the forest. For that moment the tent felt like lying inside an electric lamp as it burned out.

The rain, at first tip taps on the nylon, now grew into a steady drumming as I lay snugly in my bag, rushed to bed at 7:00pm to escape the damp.

Two days ago we set out, myself, Jerry one of my oldest and best friends, Bella an eight-year-old black Lab, on a warm August overcast day .

We were headed to Emerald lake. Our travels started with us passing a couple of ranches at the mouth of the Los Piños river before we entered the Weminuche Wilderness. This was my first time in this storied place.

My father and mother backpacked here after I graduated from college. Then when my mother passed, my father took his new wife there. My brother also backpacked here. All of them with Jerry. Jerry who holds an unmatched passion for this rugged 500,000 acre wilderness that sprawls across the continental divide in southern Colorado.

The day started well and we marched steadily up the trail. A tinge of adrenaline and excitement to be backpacking for the first time in twenty years. The altitude and my greater age weighed on me as we made our way up the river valley where it narrowed to more of a canyon with tall rocky ridges accompanying us.

The sun burned off the overcast and left a warming partly cloudy heat that nearly defeated me three miles in. I have always been poor with the heat and 37 pounds of pack with 6000 feet of additional altitude I am not accustomed to, did not help. A little rest and water did help. Increasingly dense clouds cut the intense sun and we were on our way again.

In the mountains there is an occluded view of the sky. Which is an odd way to say you cannot see most of it. Thunderheads boil up anonymously over the next ridge while you enjoy your paradise in the mountains. You may miss a little wisp of cloud as it sneaks closer and that turns grayer and soon it has pulled itself over the ridge and moves with speed over your blissful location. There it announces itself with crackles of close lightning, blinding flashes, and thunder sharp and immediate with none of the ominous roll and echo you might hear elsewhere.

Next a curtain of downdraft blows and trees rock as you watch dead snags sway and bits of needles, cones, and small twigs are whirled and suspended in the air. Finally the sound of the first rain drops in a stacato beat where you can almost hear each one.

Then for some reason there will be another bright flash and booming crack and this is when the heavens open up with a torrent of rain. Which by now if you have not found shelter you will soon find yourself wet, very wet. And if you are unfortunate to be above timberline there is little shelter from the rain and wind and may soon be soaked and shivering and crouched in hope you don’t attract the lightning’s attention.

At about six miles we reached the fork in the trail up to our destination as the heavens opened up a Rocky Mountain monsoon rainstorm with thunder and lightning. We tried sheltering under a bridge but found it really no better a shelter than the sky, so opted for standing close up under a tree and waited the hour for the rain to subside.

Jerry had originally promised there would be no monsoons this summer and to expect cool dry weather. The mountains had other plans by the time I arrived. The monsoons were just very late this year.

The late rains and limited winter snowfall were part of why we were here on the Los Piños river. The San Juan river was nearly dry as were many rivers in this part of the San Juans. Indeed earlier this year I noted how dry the Dolores seemed.

From here we proceeded to climb towards our destination. The trail made a steady effort to gain the 2,800 feet of altitude over the next three and half miles. We walked alongside Lake Creek that flows out of Emerald lake. In places we left the river below us until it caught up to us again in a series of steep cascades only apparent by the rush and roar of falling water below us.

The high mountain air swirled with cloud and mist and the wetness made that saturated look to the vegetation, brightening the colors and making it all seem new again.

Soon we were passing snow avalanche scars that could only support fresh green grass so frequently were they swept clean each winter. Talus slopes formed on either side as well where the stony cliffs sloughed off their crooked jumbles of boulders and rock scree. And here there began the sharp whistly chirp of the Yellow-bellied Marmot, echoing against the cliffs with a kind of call and response on either side of us.

For me this scene and sounds were the most Colorado feeling I could have. Recalling my childhood when the family would pack up the old Scout and drive up to the San Juans for camping and hiking. These 'whistle pigs' as my dad called them were everywhere we went in the mountains.

Emerald lake itself was formed by a giant landslide from the mountain sides around us that blocked the canyon and backed up the creek into a pair of lakes. We had to ascend this mound of broken rock and soil to get our first views of the lake.

The first lake is Little Emerald Lake where a sign discourages livestock and campers from the edge of the water. We pressed on with the bulk of the climb behind us.

The tinkle of our bear bells carried with us, including the dog’s. She had one affixed to her pack as she also carried her own food. Jerry assured me we would see bears as he sees them everytime he ventures out on these trips. These are Black bears here in Colorado which is somewhat less intimidating than the Grizzlies that haunt the mountains in my neck of the woods.

Bella for her eight years is a strong and quiet dog with kind sensitive brown eyes. When I trail behind taking photos she reliably runs back to look for me and will not resume until I make eye contact or say 'good girl Bella'. Despite her age and pack of food she will still run off trail for a dip in a river or lake. She will also sniff out a grouse and flush it from the brush, then chase it up steep banks without hesitation.

As we walked the edge of the lake the trail snaked up and down the steep bank to avoid the rocks and precipices at the edge of the lake. The trail made its way through the heavy timber and my legs were close to shot. The twelve miles and 2800 foot walk up to just over 10,000 feet had taken a toll on my strength. The steep lakeside meant we had to keep walking until the pink granite gravel ran out into an alluvial fan onto the edge of the lake and presented an almost flat area to setup camp.

We unpacked and proceeded to find places to pitch tents. It is certainly true that much of backpacking is unpacking and packing your gear. Also keeping bears and other critters out of your food.

The rest was welcome as was the food. When you are camping near lots of water you need to carry very little and filter what you need from the lake or stream. Where I grew up in Arizona water was never reliable so you hauled a lot for eating and drinking. Freeze-dried food was really not an advantage in those conditions. But here I had nothing but freeze dried which doesn't taste as bad as it used to.

The campsite had a pink granite sand and gravel beach. With the sun out for now Bella plopped down as soon as her pack was off and just soaked up the rays.

The next morning we made the short hike up to the end of the lake where a stream feeding the lake might afford us better fishing. Not before of course waiting out another cloudburst under a sub-alpine fir.

Here we found a camp perched above the end of the lake with great views down the lake. A small stream led out into the end of the lake. We walked down with fly rods in hand to join battle with the many fish we saw rising.

We cast from the shingle shore into the clear green water. The mountains, silent sentinels giving witness. After some time we came to realize most of the fish rises were methane bubbles from decaying vegetation. There were many true fish risings but they were much further from shore.

Here there were beaver dams.

After dinner the clouds and mist boiled up from over the ridge. We could see far enough up that we knew we were in for it and made hurried attempts at sheltering gear before crawling into our tents.

The rain crashed over us with palpable violence in its first fury. Lightning and thunder cracked through the clouds and an hours long onslought fell upon us. I drifted in and out of sleep every hour or so until it let up sometime near midnight.

Next I knew I was awake around 1:00am and heard the quiet drip of saturated vegetation around us. Within a few moments however began the quiet timid drops of soft rain that slowly rose in frequency and settled into a gentle soaking rain that lasted until sometime near dawn.

We rose to a wetter world and set about making breakfast and drying our equipment. Jerry went out for some last fishing and was visited by a river otter who swam past him on the lake. I managed a few rough photos as it came close to shore.

We reluctantly packed wet equipment as it became apparent we were in for more rain. We donned our packs and started to retrace our steps to increasing rhythm of drops on our jacket hoods. We had managed to this point to not see a single person once we left the Los Piños river. This was somewhat surprising as Emerald lake is a very popular destination.

We ended the journey with another rainy night. The next day a little more fishing on the Los Piños. Then a long easy hike back to the trailhead. It was wonderful to be out in some true wilderness.

For the camera nerds: These images were taken with my Fuji GFX 100sii with an OM mount Tamron 70-210mm f4 adapted manual lens. This lens while not wide enough for many of the scenes in narrow mountain valleys it represents a weight and flexibility tradeoff. The lens is reasonably sharp but I did miss my GF500 f5.6 for its sharpness and extra reach. I did not however miss its weight.

I used mostly the Fuji STD (Provia) film simulation for its higher contrast and light saturation I find best represents wet forests. I typically shoot 2/3 stop underexposed. My editing is light handed with mostly contrast and brightness adjustments. This usually suffices to give the saturation a little extra boost without having to use that slider.

The weather made it a challenge to find really spectacular conditions.