Trail Name Skillet
Moving to Colorado in 2022 brought a sense of pride in my outdoorsmanship. “I’m here, I’m in the big leagues,” I thought. Growing up on a farm, I saw myself as a rugged, knowledgeable outdoorsman. With that confidence, I bought my first backpack—an ambitious 60L pack—though I didn’t know when I’d use it. I was building excitement for my first deep dive into the wilderness, itching to get “feral.”
The opportunity came in the form of a trio trip to the mountainous region outside Westcliffe, Colorado. Known to the right mushroom muncher, it’s a sacred space.
I’d camped plenty of times as a kid: load the car with gear, drive to the site, camp. “Let’s run that back,” I thought. But I didn’t bother to ask too many details about the trip, so I began packing like a man on a mission. I had a 60L sack—surely, I could carry everything, even our 6-person Walmart tent. But because I packed the tent, my bag quickly filled up, and I crammed in what I deemed “essential,” including enough food for a week and some creature comforts like a kid’s sleepover sleeping bag, a full-size folding chair, and—my piece de resistance—a cast-iron skillet. By the time I was done, I looked like an old-timey prospector ready to pan for gold.
We set out at noon for the 4.5-hour drive to the trailhead, giving us about three hours of daylight to hike in. Subway sandwiches in hand, we were on top of the world, full steam ahead toward feral living. But the real adventure started when I drove my grocery-getter up the most challenging off-road trails I’ve ever encountered. After pushing it to its limits, having 2 wheels leave the ground simultaneously, we finally abandoned it on a side road and set out on foot.
In my mind, the hike would be a gentle climb. But within 10 minutes, reality hit hard. The elevation kicked in, and one hour later, my backpack was coming apart—literally. The sleeping bag I’d strapped on was slipping with every vertical step we took.
As we climbed higher, the air thinned, the light dimmed, and then the rain started. Turning back wasn’t an option; we were too far in. Armed with two headlamps and a phone flashlight, we pressed on, unsure how much further we had to go. My back screamed for relief every five minutes, and I found myself asking, “How much further?” like a kid on a road trip. Therefore, I trudged up the mountain, feeling like a Navy SEAL on a botched mission. The rain soaked us through and through.
Finally, we stumbled upon a clearing. It just happened it wasn’t our clearing, just a random open space. “Should we just camp here?” we asked, desperation creeping in. We scurried around, trying to find a flat spot to set up. Exhausted, soaked, and starving, we inhaled blueberry Nutri-Grain bars like feral animals. With our spirits low and our bellies barely full, we knew we had no choice but to push on.
After another 45 min push, using only dim lights and our last will to keep going in this leisure activity gone death march. We landed at our camping area. Stumbling in the night to find a campsite we went with a partially dry area. Our next mission was to set up a tent in the rain. The decision was now to use our tarp on the inside of the tent or underneath the tent. The tent had a separate rain slick. This means during the set up gallons of rain poured into the tent. After setting up the tent in the rain we were faced with some issues. No water and wet clothes. I had a partially dry sweat shirt and no other dry articles due to haphazard packing. My wet sleeping bag dripping water from the bottom corner. Now freezing I started to eat the wrong sopping wet sandwich. Like a turtle I began mowing down someone else’s sandwich while my arms and head were tucked in my sweat shirt.
The hard part was over in my head but knew I was in for a long night. With a wet sleeping bag I attempted to mentally use as a blanket, not knowing if I was colder with or without it. 10-20 mins of sleeping intervals. Starring at my watch, yearning for light break.
Cut to the next morning, and things began to start heading in our way. One of the most beautiful sunrises of my life, potentially due to sleep deprived brain with a backdrop of one of the hardest moments in my life. A dry morning, I attempted to make a fire, with nothing dry, it was a futile attempt, wasting a portion of our fire starters.
Attempting a 14er after eating some prepackaged food and 2 hours of total sleep was a bold endeavor and my body was giving out at 13,000 feet. I decided to take in the views and save it for another day.
As we descended from another ascent, the clouds began to roll in and we attempted one last fire. After 60 mins of stoking an ember we began to build a fire. Similar to the movie Castaway, we built up one hell of a fire and danced to Sugar Magnolias around it. Through more rains, the fire sustained and we ate all our rations that night, including some beans off a rock. The night drifted in and the next day we experienced more bliss with mountain goats invading our campsite.
We earned every ounce of joy on that trip. I look back fondly on that trip. It provided perspective. On the luxury of a warm bed at night, the luxury of dry clothes, the luxury of relaxation. “If you don't experience real fear, you won't experience real danger. Leading your mind to make fears out of nothing.” -Alex Honnold
Perspective, type 2 fun and a skillet provides for one hell of a back packing trip.
Skillet out.
