Colorado Trail ‘21 - a day at 13k ft
The day after stopping in Lake City to resupply on food, as I was making my way up towards the highest elevation point on the Colorado Trail, I passed by an older man on the trail who went by the trail name "Z-man" (I didn't ask how he got the name).
A bit further up the trail, I was sitting down having a snack and putting a new roll of film into my camera when he caught up to me. We chatted a bit about cameras and the past few days on the trail. We said our goodbyes and I continued up a set of switchbacks, thinking we probably wouldn't see each other again seeing as I was hiking a bit faster than he was.
Stopping again at the top of the climb for another snack, I heard Z-man call out to me asking if I'd stay back for him to catch up. "Of course", I called back, wondering what he wanted to chat about. As he got close, he asked "Hey, do you think you could stay back and hike behind me for a ways?" Curious and thinking that maybe he was feeling a bit lonely and wanted to keep chatting on the trail, I replied "yeah, happy to, what's up?".
That's when he told me "Thanks, I'm a bit worried. Back there on the climb, I stopped to take a leak and - I was peeing blood. Not sure what's going on, I feel fine, but that has me spooked".
Shit, what? Peeing blood??
We're hiking now, and I ask him how he's feeling, if something like this has happened to him before, trying to think of what I could even do in this situation. I know some basic first aid, but not anything to help with something like that. We talk about the elevation, hydration - he's been drinking plenty of water. He has one of those GPS rescue locators on him and tells me how to use it "just in case I keel over, you know?". "Of course, I've got your back", I say, hiking along behind him and watching every little rock kick and stumble wondering how "fine" he really does feel.
As we continue on, I start trying to think of what we even could do if his health started deteriorating more. We're probaby 15 miles away from a road on either side, and have passed maybe one other hiker that day. That rescue beacon is the easiest route, and also an expensive one. He doesn't want to use it unless he has to. I admit to myself that pretty much all I can do is offer moral support.
We continue on and I start asking him about himself. There isn't much more health-wise to discuss - he wants to continue on, so I try to help him feel more at ease. Turns out he volunteered with a Venturing crew for a while (I was in boy scouts growing up), so we chat about camping with scouts. He's in his early 60s and is thinking this is probably the last long hike he'll do. He's really hoping this little "peeing blood" business doesn't fuck up his plans to finish this trail.
"Yeah, I hope you're able to finish the trail too", I reply, thinking but not saying "and I hope you don't die in front of me in the process!".
We're small talking for a while longer and he turns around and pats his breast pocket, "There's a small notebook in my pocket here, in the front cover is my wife's phone number. Give her a call for me if something happens, ok?"
"Yeah, definitely. Thanks for letting me know."
We keep hiking.
I wonder how I'd even call his wife, being miles from any cell service. Would I have to leave his body on the trail to even get to that point? I try not to think too much about things like that. I'll deal with what actually happens when it happens...
After hiking up a few false-summits, we finally make it up to the highest point on the Colorado Trail. We stop - he wants a photo. I take a few photos of him standing next to the sign with his phone, and he offers to take a photo of me on my film camera, and snaps the above photo. It feels weird to be taking photos of each other casually like this when he's seemingly having a medical emergency, but then again what else can we do? We sit for a bit and eat a snack as he tries unsuccessfully to send a text to his wife.
From off in the distance, I think I hear some noise, so I tell him I'm going to scout ahead a bit. I hike around a few bends and confirm that I see and hear an ATV putting up some dust in the distance. I take off my pack and jog out, waving my arms in that "Hey! Something's wrong here - please stop!" sort of way. These are the first people we've seen all day.
They stop - two older men from Texas, and I tell them the situation. Z-man catches up, and we all talk about what can be done. They could drive him back to Lake City, but there isn't any urgent care there, what would he do then? Should he just use the rescue beacon? Can he even fit on this 2-person ATV? We'll have to dump out this cooler of ice and move some stuff around to make room.
20 minutes or so go by and things are ready to go. Z-man climbs into the passenger seat, and the friend climbs up on top/back of the ATV sitting on the cooler. Then, Z-man puts out his fist to me for a fist-bump - "Thanks for hiking with me and watching my back, Luna. I appreciate it". "Yeah, happy to help, I hope this doesn't turn out to be something serious. Hope you're able to finish the trail". "Yeah. Me too." They start driving back down the ATV track.
As they slowly drive off to who knows where, I think "And after all that, I never even learned his real name".
I wonder how things turned out for him.
So there I was, standing alone again on the trail wondering how things would turn out for me. I picked up my pack and started hiking again, thinking back over what all had just happened. A short way further down the trail a shadow passes over me followed by a sudden wind and stark 20-degree temperature drop. Ahh shit, I look back to see an afternoon storm looming over the ridge behind me.
I'm still above treeline. A dangerous place to be in a thunderstorm. My original plan was to be back down below treeline elevation before any afternoon storms cropped up, but things rightfully slowed down for a while helping out Z-man. It was maybe 5:30pm now and here I was, a mile or so of hiking before the map said I'd be back down below treeline, maybe another more before a spot to camp for the night, and now with an afternoon thunderstorm knocking on my heels.
I picked up the pace, and it started sprinking. Damn, my rain pants were all the way at the bottom of my pack. Sensing I didn't have much time, I skipped the pants and just started putting my rain cover on my pack - I didn't want to splay out my sleeping bag etc on the hillside to get to my pants. Sure enough, just as I finished covering my pack, it started pouring. Picking up my pace a bit more, I continued on, praying for cover. I could hear thunder, but it seemed to be staying on that other side of the ridge.
I pass some stands of shorter trees start when I see a bright flash of lightning. Now, I remember back from Scouts that you can count the number of seconds between the flash and the thunder, divide by 5, and you'll get the number of miles away the lightning strike was. *one thousand-one, one-thou...* <BOOOOOM>. Shit! That was waaaay too close. I abandon my hope of setting up camp and bee-line for some bushes for cover nearby. I avoid the taller trees - I don't want them to be a lightning rod of cover, and crouch on my toes in the bushes to wait it out.
Wind rips around, hail thumps down. I wonder if Z-man got caught in all this too, and I joke with myself "Hell, maybe I'm the one who really needed that locator-beacon after all". Maybe half an hour goes by and slowly the lightning strikes get further away, and the rain gets lighter.
I emerge from my savior bush and look around. The tiniest bit of golden hour light shines under the clouds and warms the valley. Some birds start chirping and everything glistens with beads of sunset fire.
A few hundred yards up the trail, I find a woman crouching in her own protective bush next to a half-constructed rained on tent, and I let out a sudden stress-relief shout of joy. Another human! The lightning interrupted her setting up camp. We chat about the storm and I tell her about Z-man. "Ahh, that really sucks for him. I just saw him down in town the other day and he was so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, refreshed and ready to get back on the trail. I hope he's ok."
"Yeah, me too".
Later that night, I lay in bed trying to avoid getting out of my warm sleeping bag to go out and pee. Eventually, I get out and look up at a perfectly clear sky and a beautiful bright milky way painted across the sky. As I gaze in wonder, I see a meteor streak across the sky, then another. Suddenly I remember what some folks told me a few days ago on the trail - tonight is peak viewing for the perseid meteor shower! I stop and gaze up at the sky and watch streak after streak as the cold clear night sends a shiver up my spine.
How does so much fit into one day, where so much pain, fear, uncertainty, relief, joy, and beauty all coexist alongside each other like that? When I came home, I was often naturally asked “how was the trail?” The best response I could come up with was “It was a lot. And I’m glad I did it.”