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through the wilderness <br><br>I however cant believe it. Their been 4-0 or therefore years since that fateful summer. My buddies Larry and Steve and I were around 12 years of age when we were dropped off early in the afternoon o-n a rainy, dirty small path of the highway off Highway 135 north of Gunnison, Colorado up toward Kebler Pass. <br><br>The mission: follow tracks up Pass Creek through the West Elk Wilderness Area, mix Castle and Swampy Passes at 11,086 legs, finally coming out o-n the other side following Little Robinson Creek down coming at Coal Creek just up in the Paonia Reservior and Anthracite Creek. <br><br>I marvel and wonder to this day, what were those children parents thinking? What would induce them to turn 3 twelve year olds loose for a trip through the West Elk Wilderness? We were on the trail way back in the backcountry of Colorado for 3-days and nights, setting up camps, carrying and fixing meals, fishing, cutting wood and fretting about bears and being lost. I and people I know with children that age today are not sure we"d even consider dropping them down on a wilderness path, seeing them 3-days later in condition at the other end. <br><br>On the years Ive asked friends and family and the answer usually comes home - its an alternative world today than it was 40 or 50 years ago. Children are different. At that age, we were outside constantly, leaving the home in the morning and just to arrive when we were hungry or it had been bedtime. On our bikes, we explored the complete area, the river bottom on the North Fork of the Gunnixon, hills, near-by creeks and draws around Paonia, Colorado, 7 days a week. For a second viewpoint, consider checking out: [http://www.gdstbj.org/paying-summers-at-women-camps-great-trip-alternative/ Paying Summers At Women Camps Great Trip Alternative - Gdstbj]. Our parents rarely had a definite idea where we were. It was a different world absent fear of kidnappings, only the beginnings of awareness of the dangers of games, only occasional reports of children dying in accidents and so on. A more naive world perhaps, with less media hype of each and every single incident. <br><br>Needless to say, Steve was a veteran backpacker (at age 12?), experienced in driving tracks, campsites and the like. The parents apparently thought we"d be great. Or they just never told us and worried them-selves ill. <br><br>The three-day trip began to the right foot. Both feet in-fact were soaked as were the pants up to above the knees since the trail led through tall grass soaked by constant rain turning the trail to dirt. A wet slog up Pass Creek headed for Swampy Pass, and the first times camp we huddled in tents in the rain and fog in a grassy meadow along the creek. <br><br>The second day dawned warm, warming the landscape, drying tent and sleeping bags. Pants and shoes dried up eventually as they were worn by us over Castle Pass and Swampy Pass. A comforting campfire was afforded by the second nights camp, and order was restored. Some order was restored anyway. For another standpoint, consider having a peep at: [http://www.sodahead.com//user/profile/3917297/picchutrekbeauty090/?editMode=true SodaHead.com - User 3917297]. Throughout the night we were awakened by an alarming snuffling noise outside the tents. Panic ensued. Racing around in the dark, and restoking the campfire, nothing was found indicating a bear anywhere. Hoof scars suggested deer might have been grazing through, but creativity sure whips up grand frights at night. <br><br>The next day dawned bright and sunny, despite the times scare. The Beckwith Peaks shined for the north, meadows were filled with flowers, and the fishing...., was incredible. Working it out for miles back in remote streams, Colorado fishing offers something of stories. That 3rd trip to the headwaters of Little Robinson Creek, we fished our way downstream. Nearly every cast was a strike. Our limits were quickly filled to the upper reaches of that perfect flow. <br><br>Getting a great campsite along Little Robinson Creek we torched the campfire for dinner and set up the last evenings camp. To your joy we found a valuable trait of a seasoned back-pack spouse, also at 12 years of age. H-e prepared clean trout in foil over a campfire to perfection. An unique taste treat that would stick with us forever. <br><br>That night sleep came early and strong, apart from constant shifting to find a softer spot after two days on the ground. Exhaustion from the transport, and the lack of sleep the nights before overrode concerns about bears or other wild creatures. Yet another day back-in the West Elk Wilderness welcomed a refreshed group of guys, with the recognition that those nightime doubts were unfounded paranoias tormenting the mind. <br><br>The last leg of the trip involved many miles following Little Robinson Creek working our way to avoid it of the wilderness. The rendezvous point with your parents was where Willow Creek and Robinson Creek become Coal Creek at an old deserted farm house. We began the morning travel with enthusiasm - a wonderful day, great view of the Beckwith Mountains to the north of us, glowing Little Robinson Creek at our side, and a great nights rest. <br><br>The pleasure of that travel through West Elk Wilderness will also have the dash of the remaining miles of the trip. Not a major problem, but the long, warm, dusty trudge down that last leg of the path. The weariness, legs in pain, legs bruised and aching, and the apparently endless trudge stick to me. The training I continue on into my 50s is presented in terms of preventing the pain of this last leg of the journey - ensuring greater equipment, quality shoes, and the drive to teach for such distances. <br><br>Today times we would also imagine good base-camp rooms in near-by Gunnison or Crested Butte and within the Colorado Wilderness Tours site at www.montanaadventure.com/out/state/us-co.html. My aunt learned about [http://www.876785.com/summer-youth-camps-offer-countless-choices/ Summer Youth Camps Offer Countless Choices at 876785.com] by searching the London Post-Herald. And again Ive got to question what our parents were thinking when placing us free on that 30 mile trek through the wilderness, I with pummelled tennis shoes, and a backpack that was a-bag with shoulder straps. It had been a much different world. Gotta like it!.<br><br>If you beloved this report and you would like to acquire a lot more details with regards to [http://www.dailystrength.com get health insurance] kindly take a look at our web-page. | |||
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Revision as of 01:00, 4 March 2014
through the wilderness
I however cant believe it. Their been 4-0 or therefore years since that fateful summer. My buddies Larry and Steve and I were around 12 years of age when we were dropped off early in the afternoon o-n a rainy, dirty small path of the highway off Highway 135 north of Gunnison, Colorado up toward Kebler Pass.
The mission: follow tracks up Pass Creek through the West Elk Wilderness Area, mix Castle and Swampy Passes at 11,086 legs, finally coming out o-n the other side following Little Robinson Creek down coming at Coal Creek just up in the Paonia Reservior and Anthracite Creek.
I marvel and wonder to this day, what were those children parents thinking? What would induce them to turn 3 twelve year olds loose for a trip through the West Elk Wilderness? We were on the trail way back in the backcountry of Colorado for 3-days and nights, setting up camps, carrying and fixing meals, fishing, cutting wood and fretting about bears and being lost. I and people I know with children that age today are not sure we"d even consider dropping them down on a wilderness path, seeing them 3-days later in condition at the other end.
On the years Ive asked friends and family and the answer usually comes home - its an alternative world today than it was 40 or 50 years ago. Children are different. At that age, we were outside constantly, leaving the home in the morning and just to arrive when we were hungry or it had been bedtime. On our bikes, we explored the complete area, the river bottom on the North Fork of the Gunnixon, hills, near-by creeks and draws around Paonia, Colorado, 7 days a week. For a second viewpoint, consider checking out: Paying Summers At Women Camps Great Trip Alternative - Gdstbj. Our parents rarely had a definite idea where we were. It was a different world absent fear of kidnappings, only the beginnings of awareness of the dangers of games, only occasional reports of children dying in accidents and so on. A more naive world perhaps, with less media hype of each and every single incident.
Needless to say, Steve was a veteran backpacker (at age 12?), experienced in driving tracks, campsites and the like. The parents apparently thought we"d be great. Or they just never told us and worried them-selves ill.
The three-day trip began to the right foot. Both feet in-fact were soaked as were the pants up to above the knees since the trail led through tall grass soaked by constant rain turning the trail to dirt. A wet slog up Pass Creek headed for Swampy Pass, and the first times camp we huddled in tents in the rain and fog in a grassy meadow along the creek.
The second day dawned warm, warming the landscape, drying tent and sleeping bags. Pants and shoes dried up eventually as they were worn by us over Castle Pass and Swampy Pass. A comforting campfire was afforded by the second nights camp, and order was restored. Some order was restored anyway. For another standpoint, consider having a peep at: SodaHead.com - User 3917297. Throughout the night we were awakened by an alarming snuffling noise outside the tents. Panic ensued. Racing around in the dark, and restoking the campfire, nothing was found indicating a bear anywhere. Hoof scars suggested deer might have been grazing through, but creativity sure whips up grand frights at night.
The next day dawned bright and sunny, despite the times scare. The Beckwith Peaks shined for the north, meadows were filled with flowers, and the fishing...., was incredible. Working it out for miles back in remote streams, Colorado fishing offers something of stories. That 3rd trip to the headwaters of Little Robinson Creek, we fished our way downstream. Nearly every cast was a strike. Our limits were quickly filled to the upper reaches of that perfect flow.
Getting a great campsite along Little Robinson Creek we torched the campfire for dinner and set up the last evenings camp. To your joy we found a valuable trait of a seasoned back-pack spouse, also at 12 years of age. H-e prepared clean trout in foil over a campfire to perfection. An unique taste treat that would stick with us forever.
That night sleep came early and strong, apart from constant shifting to find a softer spot after two days on the ground. Exhaustion from the transport, and the lack of sleep the nights before overrode concerns about bears or other wild creatures. Yet another day back-in the West Elk Wilderness welcomed a refreshed group of guys, with the recognition that those nightime doubts were unfounded paranoias tormenting the mind.
The last leg of the trip involved many miles following Little Robinson Creek working our way to avoid it of the wilderness. The rendezvous point with your parents was where Willow Creek and Robinson Creek become Coal Creek at an old deserted farm house. We began the morning travel with enthusiasm - a wonderful day, great view of the Beckwith Mountains to the north of us, glowing Little Robinson Creek at our side, and a great nights rest.
The pleasure of that travel through West Elk Wilderness will also have the dash of the remaining miles of the trip. Not a major problem, but the long, warm, dusty trudge down that last leg of the path. The weariness, legs in pain, legs bruised and aching, and the apparently endless trudge stick to me. The training I continue on into my 50s is presented in terms of preventing the pain of this last leg of the journey - ensuring greater equipment, quality shoes, and the drive to teach for such distances.
Today times we would also imagine good base-camp rooms in near-by Gunnison or Crested Butte and within the Colorado Wilderness Tours site at www.montanaadventure.com/out/state/us-co.html. My aunt learned about Summer Youth Camps Offer Countless Choices at 876785.com by searching the London Post-Herald. And again Ive got to question what our parents were thinking when placing us free on that 30 mile trek through the wilderness, I with pummelled tennis shoes, and a backpack that was a-bag with shoulder straps. It had been a much different world. Gotta like it!.
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