Austin Bigham

Mrs. Davis

College English

10 September, 2015

The Sangre de Cristo Mountains

Albert Ellingwood, who pioneered the Sangre de Cristo Mountain range, in 1910, once said, “The glamour of lost history – dim memories of Indian bands, of French explorers and Spanish troops; they have the spell of the remote, the mystery of recesses that are little known; they are the kind of mountains one's imagination builds." The mountains stretched to the horizon, lower halves concealed by trees. As we approached the trailhead, it was as if I could feel the amount of history held within the range. Ethan and I were ready to embark on a journey that we both knew would change our lives forever.

After eleven long hours in the van, the trailhead finally came into sight at the end of the long gravel road. The lot was nearly empty, apart from our vehicle and two others. It was raining heavily, which denied us the ability to prepare for the four and a half mile hike. As a result of this, we agreed to wait until the following day to begin the ascent to Willow Lake. With no campgrounds close enough to utilize, the van that we had just spent eleven torturous hours in, was converted into our sleeping quarters for the night. Everyone unpacked their sleeping bags and settled into them, for we knew the temperature would drop quickly. With Ethan in the middle, myself on the floor, and my dad in the back, we fell asleep envisioning the scarlet mountains that we were bound to explore.

The sunlight lifted me out of my sleeping bag and into my hiking gear along with the others. With the tent in my pack and the poles in Ethan's, we were predetermined to be the first up the mountain. Together, we left behind civilization and entered into a wilderness that is beyond the imagination. Along the trail, streams flowed underneath rudimentary bridges, upon which we unavoidably had to walk across. The first was only yards away from the trailhead, the immutable rush of water guiding us towards the restless brook. A single tree trunk, fixed to the ground on either side, sat above the roaring water. I went first, crossing over the stream which sprayed my legs with a light mist as I tried to keep my balance. Ethan followed right behind me, aligning himself on the center of the log to avoid falling in the icy water.

Four hours in, with only three previous stops, our sixty pound packs drove us to the closest seat we could find. On long hikes like this one, you don't determine when to take a break, the mountain decides for you by distributing rocks and fallen trees in various areas alongside the trail. Ethan managed to locate one large enough for the two of us and we took our final, much needed break. One by one we unclipped our straps, each one releasing the tension from our bodies. The packs fell away, exposing our backs to the cool mountain air. While we waited for our bodies to regain their energy, our minds were captivated by awe-inspiring views of the San Luis valley, with mountains commanding the horizon and directing the vale they bordered. Thousands of feet in the air, we could see for miles, every inch filled with sights that most only dream of witnessing. It was at this point that we knew, without a doubt in our minds, that this wouldn’t be the last mountain we climbed.

The hike was nearly finished and the only thing left to do was to find a campsite and set up the tent. After five hours of backpacking, the trail led us directly into the dense forest where our camp was destined to be placed. We quickly searched the area, finding a clearing wide enough to pitch the tent and with enough space to build a fire. Soon after we finished setting up camp, the rest of the group arrived and let their packs fall from their shoulders just as ours did. In the few hours of light that we had left, we unpacked the ramen and began cooking. Ramen isn't the best tasting meal, but it is however one of the lightest and hence consumed without complaint. Only an hour or two after we arrived, the camp fell silent as we surrendered our minds to the voices of nature, dragging us into our dreams.

On the third day, Ethan and I arose with the sun and started out towards Kit Carson peak. We had only hiked to the lake the day before and felt it was necessary to reach the top. Without the weight of the packs, we could travel noticeably faster and within minutes we were sitting on the edge of a cliff, looking down on a waterfall one hundred feet above Willow Lake. An entire new valley was waiting to our left, while to the right, Kit Carson stood penetrating the clouds racing across the sky. In about two hours we reached what gave us the breathtaking impression, that we were on top of the world. On top of the peak, we were untouchable, even the clouds were beneath us.

Before returning to camp, we ventured off to see what other spectacles the valley held. Deserting the main trail, we moved towards the end of the valley using various animal trails that led to numerous animal hideaways. For over two hours we explored and investigated the trails before discovering a cave that overlooked Willow Lake. We clambered up the steep incline, following an animal trail cloaked with shrubbery, leading to the seemingly endless darkness. We cautiously peered over the lip of the cave, constantly scanning the area for wildlife, in case the cave was already occupied by an animal. Fortunately for us, it was uninhabited, but to our surprise, somebody had dug into the rock forming two flattened areas where somebody could sleep. Ethan and I spent the majority of the day in the cave, overlooking the mirror image of the mountains reflecting off of the water, creating a paralyzing sense of wonder.

The final day arrived with a sense of urgency, for we wanted to be on the road looking for a place to eat as soon as possible. Everything you carried up must come down with you, including the tent Ethan and I had just finished packing. We were the first to begin the descent of the mountain we climbed three days before. In steep areas it was easier to jog rather than walk, and in most cases, it was steep. We were practically running down the side of a mountain with the added weight of our backpacks. It wasn’t that we wanted to beat the others down, but because of the thrill produced by running on uneven ground, thousands of feet in the air. The thought of stopping was swept away by the adrenaline surging throughout my entire body. The whole descent was intoxicating, giving me a rush of emotions that i could never find anywhere else.

In what we would like to believe as the record time, the hike down took less than half the time we spent climbing up. Now that we had completed the hike, none of that mattered, nothing was on our minds more than the food that we knew was coming. Five days of ramen noodles and crackers was irrevocably in the past. Soon, we would enter back into civilization and find a restaurant that would serve us food fit for a king. The common choice was Wendy’s, but with that choice being hours away, we settled for All-Gon Pizza. A family owned restaurant that produced the best food I have enjoyed in a long time, although just about any other place would’ve probably done the same, for my taste buds simply ached for something different. After ordering, our next stop was the restroom, where we washed five days worth of dirt off of our hands and face. Together, the meal and the sink had a revitalizing and recivilizing effect, returning both my body and mind, back to reality. The backpacking trip that my family takes every year is always something I look forward to. But this year, it was one of the best times of my life. Taking my best friend, who had never seen mountains, on a journey that I knew would take us deep into the wilderness surrounded by them, was something I will remember for the rest of my life. The experience of discovering the remote, hidden recesses of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, as Ellingwood described, is one that will stay on the top of my list for a very long time.