The day started as days so often do.

That is, an alarm was left to mingle for several seconds with a wrenching groan before finally being returned to the void of silence. Trail preparation, which had been so diligently neglected the day before, was now exacted with the utmost haste. Pants, shirts, hats, coats, and most importantly, wool socks, were pulled on, and soon we were out the door and into the frigid air.

The day’s mission was a simple one: Journey to the town of Pitkin, Colorado, and hike. Last semester, an attempt of a similar nature was made, but alas, we were turned back by adverse conditions. Now though, with route in mind and winter gear in hand, it was only a matter of time before we conquered Forest Road #770.

To those readers who have never visited the thriving metropolis of Pitkin, you won’t realize how ironic the first part of this sentence was. Once a major supply center during the mining booms in the 19th century, Pitkin is now characterized by a notable lack of people, or really anything for that matter. The only life besides ourselves was the multitude of stray dogs, acting in complete defiance of the edicts around town that prohibited their refusal to wear leashes. Once we were sure that none of this had changed over break, we started up 770. Now, don’t let the fact that 770 was labeled as a road fool you. There was no way that any motor vehicle with 4 wheels and a healthy state of mind could have navigated it. Determined feet, on the other hand…

The first 3 miles of the trail were a steady and exhausting uphill. Snow has a quality of making one step through it feel like three. The snowmobile tracks we hiked upon led us truly though, and soon we passed the worst of the hills. Pine trees towered over the trail in its initial segment, but once we had made it in a few miles, the sky and our surroundings opened up, giving several stunning views of the wintery landscape.

Eventually, the snowmobile tracks that had acted as our guides became too ambiguous to follow further. It was there, at six miles in, and standing under crystal blue skies, that we decided to turn tail and make our way back. The return trek was far easier, though our tired muscles were loath to admit it. And so, in half the time it had taken us to ascend, we were again walking the lonely streets of Pitkin. But not before one last picture…

~Ty and Sky

Pictures courtesy of (Orion) Skyler Stanley; Words courtesy of Tyler Brant.