Ouray
1999
Day 1
Well, ONCE AGAIN my aptly named truck, Troubled
Child was causing me fits and threatening not to take me on this
momentous wheeling occasion I'd been looking forward to for a
year now.
After totally
draining two batteries (the second being an expensive Optima)
my thick skull finally let the message thru that it was a short
in the electrical system. About 3 hours of fiddling with
circuit breakers, fuses, and a Digital MultiMeter traced the problem
down to a sticky rear tailgate switch. I'm not sure because
I just yanked the circuit breaker and left it out. Damn
truck.
I convoyed
out Fri with James after finally catching up to him (I was late
as always--sorry about that, James). We made it into the
tiny historic town at a very late 11pm after some 8 hours on the
road broken up with pit stops and a super dinner at the Cattleman
in Gunnison (I highly recommend it). Well, thank God Best
Western had a hotel room available. I needed it something
fierce.
Next day I
met Mark and his family at Cecillia's--Mountain Garden was closed--grabbed
some good chow and waited for the others to show. First Toby fresh
in from Gunnison, then Jason and family, and finally James and
his wife who we left waiting for their daughter while we headed
down 550 to the turnoff for Engineer Pass Road.
After airing
down we headed up the trail which was on the easy side of moderate.
Except for that one spot... see, I guess I was wearing the dunce
hat that day; I hung up not one but BOTH diffs on a couple of
strategically placed rocks thanks to my stellar driving skills.
It took some creative use of a hi-lift and the reverse gear (not
to mention some level of insanity) to get unstuck. Thanks
for the help and risking life and limb, Jason! Don't try
this at home, kids.
We stopped
a few times to wait for James, heard him on the CB a couple of
times. Oh yeah, I had just bought a new Uniden 520XL (burnt
up the other radio) and spent hours building some brackets to
mount it (thanks for shop & materials, Roy!). Fri I
left the K40 backup antenna home. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Naturally my only antenna didn't work. Bad
cable. Then I found out one of my two handhelds also was
unreliable. I finally ended up 'field testing' the CB that Ethan
offered to buy.
Well, James
caught up with us after some time and we found out he'd broken
down on the trail with a bad radiator leak. Some mud and
branches kept the leak under control but the problem plagued him
the rest of the weekend. Don't try this at home either,
kids.
We headed
up to the lookout point just before Engineer Pass and enjoyed
a great view of a bunch of big mountains and took group photos.
But not before the group bonehead (me) wedged himself in a tricky
spot by taking the very worst line possible. A quick tow
from Toby got me up no problem.
We split up
at the top. Toby and I (Delta team?) headed for Lake City
with plans of camping overnight, while the others (Omega team?)
headed for (I think) Animas Forks and then back home. Before
parting, we discussed rendezvous at the California/Poughkeepsie
Gulch intersection at 1200. We also suggested Omega team
meet up with Art down in Silverton on the way back to base.
We wouldn't
hear from the others for more than a day...
Day 2
To say it was cold that morning somehow isn't
sufficient. I have to explain that both tents were covered
in a nice, healthy sheet of frost that morning. One of those times
where you want to stay in the mummy bag for the next, oh, five
hours.
But don't
get me wrong. The coldest morning camping is far, far better
than the best day working.
After delaying
Toby and Lucinda by a good hour while I cooked up a gloriously
cholesterol-laden camp breakfast, we headed over Cinnamon Pass
to the old ghost town of Animas Forks. The pass and the
road leading to it featured some great alpine scenery and
offered no real difficulty.
After a brief
and entirely failed attempt at panning gold we headed up California
Gulch which kind of dog-legs before it hits California Pass. The
sweeping rises of mountain slopes carpeted in the richest greens
were interrupted at the oddest points by the ruins of old mine
buildings. Towards the top, hitting a couple of tight and
steep switchbacks, the mountains turned red, covered by millions
of sharp, fist-sized rocks making one ponder if the mountain was
actually not solid but just a pile of these rocks.
We reached
the very high pass, enjoying a spectacular view of other mountains
and the gorgeous crystal blue Lake Como below. We had a
clear view of Poughkeepsie Gulch trail but no sign of FSJs, so
we headed down to Lake Como for a long, long lunch.
We expected
at any minute that our pals would meet up with us, but doubt crept
in after an hour passed and we talked to a Wrangler owner who
was still white-knuckled and saucer-eyed from the drive up that
most infamous of Ouray's trails. Either the FSJs were stuck
or they bagged it and went home.
Well, after
a time we gave up waiting and continued down Corkscrew Gulch which
was a truly fun 4x4 drive. It wound through trees, down
gulches, and so forth (all these trails start to run together
for me) and finally wound its way off the mountain and hooked
back up with 550.
We headed
into town and searched for a place to stay and looked around for
any sign of the others. I finally spied Mark on the way
to get some ice but CB range and speed allowed for about 10 seconds
of conversation. I ran into Jason at the Texaco up north
and he quickly related the day's adventures; they'd gone over
Imogene and Ophir passes. If the high altitude hadn't affected
my brain I would've remembered to check voicemail and find that
out. From his story it didn't sound quite like smooth sailing.
Jason headed
for Gunnison and I back to Ouray to meet up with Toby and anyone
else we could find for dinner at a local pizza & burger joint.
Time ticked by, we met up with people, the Arizona Wildcats made
an amazing comeback from several touchdowns behind to lead the
game with 5 minutes left in the 4th qtr (I still don't know if
they won tho) and I had to make a mad dash to find Ethan and Susan's
campsite before it got any later or darker.
It only took
about an hour of driving around lost in the dark and cursing the
inadequate lighting on my rig before I stumbled across SlushPuppy
and the campsite. Quietly as I could, I set up camp and
went promptly to sleep, thinking about my plans next day to try
and find Art down in Silverton...
Day 3
So Ethan woke up Monday morning to quite a
surprise. To wit, TC sitting about twenty feet away from
his campsite. What he couldn't see until he got up there
was my tent (once again covered in frost) sitting on the other
side of the truck.
We eventually
got moving again, tried to warm up using small camping stoves,
and I cooked more heart-unfriendly breakfast, only this time I
only delayed my camping pals by a half-hour.
I had decided
to try and look Art up that morning in Silverton. Didn't know
if he'd left already or what. Ethan and Susan and I said
farewell and I headed into Silverton, and found Art's brown Cherokee
at a parts store. Uh oh.
He didn't
recognize me at first, but eventually figured out who I was, and
we jawed for awhile. He was having some over-heating problems,
so he pointed me in the direction of a couple trails after I thoroughly
examined his legendary jeep with the custom dash, guages, and
multi CCD camera setup that he uses for off-road navigation and
trailer hookup.
I headed down
110, turning off onto Arrastra Gulch road that crosses over Arrastra
creek via a small bridge. There's several turnoffs, and
I explored most of them, but eventually found my way up to some
super-steep switchbacks that lead up to an old mine--the Mayflower,
apparantly, which transferred ore buckets by tramway to the processing
site.
Then I headed
on to Maggie Gulch which ended up being a super scenic drive with
trees, aspens, huge gulches, a waterfall, alpine scenery and lots
of little furry critters. Towards
the end it got kind of scary (remember I was alone, no one to
tow me out) with all the mud and huge ruts and holes. But
TC made it through just fine even though I gave 'im a pounding
to avoid getting stuck. Roy's welding job held up great
and the shackles didn't stick finally!
At the end
of the trail is a great view back, but also lots of old steel
from a mining operation of some kind. A small area where
you can turn around in might fit a half-dozen or more FSJs if
they're parked carefully--I was imagining the 2002 invasion in
which the trail leader would have to arrive and direct each person
into a tight parking spot... anyway...
So I headed
back in a lot quicker time than it took to get up (fewer pictures)
and was back in Silverton in no time. I think I was early,
didn't see Art and ended up going to a real late lunch.
Well, anyway, met up with Art again later and we had dinner (I
know I eat a lot--it was a vacation, ok?) and talked about next
morning's trail runs...
Day 4
Well, Art pretty well summed up our day's adventures.
We ate a hearty b'fast at the Chattanooga Cafe and after the previous
day and today's listening in to the banter of the locals, I began
to see why Art is so drawn to this town.
A coworker
of mine put up a webpage in part extolling the virtues of Ouray,
but as quaint as Ouray is, I was drawn to Silverton; it seems
a little more humble and real. I can't deny it is a tourist
trap, but one that feels different than Ouray--as if the town
has a life and a reality outside tourism.
With the dirt
roads, the old houses that don't try to look like brand new replicas
of old houses, the colorful, down to earth local people who are
mixed thoroughly with the most stereotypical tourists in any shop
or on any streetcorner, Silverton has a unique ambience to it.
One that is comfortable, interesting, inspiring.
Maybe, too,
it was the lack of Harleys roaring through town that did it for
me (purely timing, I assure you). Whatever the case, I have
found a special place in my heart for this small, cozy mountain
town.
One of it's
best features is that it is within close driving distance of many
of the best trails in the area. Animas Forks and the Alpine
Loop are just down the road, and from there you can choose a couple
of different passes that lead to 550.
Well, Art
and I instead headed towards Stony Pass. Unbenknownst to
me we didn't actually PLAN to go up to Stony Pass but an accidental
right turn lead us up into the scenic alpine beauty that surrounds
Stony Pass on all sides. The peaks look so close you could
almost hike up to them. Perhaps a day hike, though.
It was a cold
morning. The wind was biting right through my clothing and
I had to don my parka shell or be frozen solid. It was a
gorgeous spot to stop and look around, but I was kind of glad
to be back in my nice warm Waggy.
We headed
back down to the fork and followed what would've been the left
turn up to Buffalo Boy Mine (well, I didn't remember the name
until Art posted his story). Wow. A huge mining structure
that served as a tram house near the very top of a mountain peak.
The mine shaft burrowed right into the side of this mountain only
a few hundred feet from the summit. The remains of gnarled
rusty steel tracks squirmed out from the closed up shaft across
some heavy wood planking, out over the top of the building, and
stopped right where the chute plummeted down into the building
towards the empty space last occupied by an ore bucket some 70
years ago.
You can still
see where the ore bucket was diverted off the tram cables, and
into its waiting space, then rolled back onto the wires, down
the alpine slope, across ancient towers, finally crumbling with
the fatigue of years and the weight of those enormous cables.
Over the next rise in the slope downward, a tower has given up
its statuesque pose, crumpling to earth as if in a gasp of exhaustion.
The green
and red and brown of rocks and meadows is interrupted so abruptly
here as in other places in the San Juans by these remnants of
mining. Huge white tailings piles at the tops of mountains
that hardy--greedy--souls climbed in the 1800s where few a century
later dare tread except in the best weather and with the best
fabrics and gear our technology has to offer.
We spent some
time talking and exploring the site, looking for gold (I'm convinced
enough trips to Ouray with enough careful panning and rock examination
would pay for this Jeep habit of mine...) Finally we headed
back down from that quiet but cold place. I had to head
back to Denver. My boss, unlike Art's was not in Europe
and would probably mind quite a bit if I didn't show up Wednesday.
Ironically, I ended up missing Wednesday anyway as I had to retrieve
from New Mexico my friend, who was left uninjured but without
his baby Cherokee after a serious car accident in Truth or Consequences.
I filled up
with gas at Bill's station and chatted with him for awhile about
the planned 2002 invasion. Silverton has the facilities,
the friendliness, and the access to trails and might be a good
place to stage much of the 2002 invasion from after all.
Worth some thought.
I was on the
road by noon and got back to Littleton after a long but scenic
and enjoyable drive. TC was running in top form and in fact
made the entire journey using only 1.5 tanks of gas. Without
a speedo I was unable to calculate the mileage, but I'm sure it
was stellar compared to the norm. Probably the 38# of air
in the tires helped.
Ouray was
a great time! I can't wait to organize a bigger shindig
next year, so keep your Labor Day weekend free if you can.
This place really offers some staggering scenery, enjoyable four-wheeling,
and many, many other attractions. These little towns of
Silverton and Ouray are absolute gems in the rich settings of
the San Juans. One more very good reason to be glad I live
in Colorado.
Michael
