Interim – Experiments in Physics – Part 3

Rio Grande National Forest, Colorado – 20-21 August 2024

Somewhere in the distance, physics is getting a workout. A bunch of ice particles are colliding in a cloud. They rip off a bit of ice and grab a bit of an electric charge from one another during each collision. That electricity eventually discharges, heating the air around it to 30,000 C (almost 5 times the temp of the surface of the sun). The air expands explosively fast, creating a shock wave that I hear booming over the hills to the west.

I’m in my tent, curled up with my hip in a dip in the ground, my knees pointing uphill and my crap arm bent on top of my hip in one of the few positions it will abide. My rain jacket is draped over me, just enough to keep my hiking sweat from evaporating too quickly. I lie there, comfortably, and doze off to the sound of the thunderstorm making its way down an adjacent valley. It’s warm in the tent, here above 11,000 feet, with the sun creating a warm greenish glow through the tent fly.

Eight hours ago, around 7am, my parents and I left the cabin we rented and drove up through the Rio Grande valley with its steep-sided walls composed of volcanic rocks from several different eruptions. Shortly after passing through Wagon Wheel Gap, we turned off on a gravel forest road that steadily climbed for 10 miles up onto high mesas with grassy slopes and long views.

The road was in great condition with only a couple rocky sections and some washboard in the swtichbacks at the beginning. It all still made my dad nervous, though, especially when the sun glare was blinding and there was a drop-off to the side. Compared to Oz roads, however, it was almost freeway quality! Luckily, the road didn’t freak him out so much that we needed to stop and add extra miles to my hike.

We arrived at the Hansens Mill trailhead around 8.15am in an open, logged plateau with dacite-capped mesas and deeply eroded creek valleys stretching in each direction. In the near distance, San Luis Peak (a fourteener) stands above the surrounding volcanics as a dominant and lumpy-sided peak that is the area focal point. Far in the distance, Bristol Head, over near Lake City, appears as a long bluff-like peak with a vertical face and a long sloping rear.

After a toilet break, and the forever nature of preparation that comes with hanging out with people under 5 or over 65 years of age, we headed down the trail. The idea was that the folks would hike with me for a little bit where the grade was gentle, then they’d turn back and I would continue on. So we hiked through the very logged and open forest, through live and dead trees. Our shoes picked up the moisture from the grasses as we meandered along below a mesa.

My mom has trouble breathing all the time now – she coughs a lot even at home. Any little hill gets her puffed, and the elevation makes it worse. So it was a pretty slow go, even though my mom was pushing hard.

We eventually made it to a nice viewpoint before the trail started to work its way down to a creek. We took some photos and then I high-tailed it down the trail.

It’s monsoon season in Colorado. That means you can expect thunderstorms in the mountains every day after noon. You really need to do alpine starts at this time of year if your hike is going to have any sort of exposure. And this hike has plenty of that. So leaving at 7am and getting on the trail at 8.45am was really, really late. So I zoomed downhill, as fast as my legs could go, to make up for lost time. I wanted to get to the Wheeler Geologic Area, and have time to look around, before the afternoon storms came.

I admired the geology as I high-tailed it downhill. I appreciated the eroded volcanic rocks that outcropped in craggy cliffs above the dissected creeks.

This area, geologically, is of a scale that is almost beyond my comprehension. We are hiking through a caldera (e.g. large depression created by the collapse of a volcano – think Crater Lake in Oregon). This, the La Garita Caldera, originated from the second largest eruption ever known on earth. The largest ever known eruption, Indonesia’s Toba volcano, was 70,000 years ago. Evidence exists to show that eruption almost caused human extinction through resulting climate change.

Yellowstone is the supervolcano most people know. It erupted around 2 million and 630,000 years ago. The older caldera was nearly 45 miles across and blew out 400 cubic miles of rock. By comparison, Mt St Helens only erupted 2 cubic miles of rock in 1980. The Tonga eruption in 2022 erupted about .46 cubic miles of rock.

But the La Garita Caldera blew out 1200 cubic miles of rock – three times that of Yellowstone with enough lava and ash to fill Lake Michigan!

The caldera is 22 miles wide and 47 miles long. The eruption would have killed everything within 100 miles, and the entire state of Colorado would have seen catastrophic destruction. If you know the town of Gunnison in Colorado… that area would have been covered in 800 feet of ash and debris.

Around 35-30 million years ago (mya), a large volume of stratovolcanos formed the San Juan Volcanic Field. This area was blown apart, or covered in up to 4000 feet of ash, 27.6 mya by the initial La Garita caldera eruption.

After the initial eruption and caldera collapse, a series of further eruptions within the La Garita Caldera itself created at least eight smaller calderas from 27.3 to 26.8 mya. All of these different calderas have different rock types associated with them. Every eruption has its own chemical signature. Had I not screwed up my shoulder, my five-day hike was going to allow me to hike over a major La Garita resurgent dome and view different rocks from at least four of the other calderas/eruption cycles.

So, needless to say, I’ve been pretty excited to walk within this giant caldera and ponder all things geology.

So, this morning, the trail dropped us to East Bellows Creek (last source of water until you reach the geologic area) in the first few miles. As I hiked down the final couple switchbacks, I saw a couple of women in their mid-20s getting ready to continue on from the creek on the other side. Crap – can you go nowhere on a weekday anymore and not see other hikers in Colorado? There I was, only a few miles from the trailhead, and I was already seeing other backpackers who would want to camp where I wanted to camp tonight.

The women continued on while I leaned against a rock to remove my shoes and socks. The creek was not running too high, and the rocks underneath were not pointy, so barefoot seemed the best option. I did bring my hiking pole with me, in case I needed it for balance, but I didn’t take the time to assemble it. I just waded across the creek slowly – it was a bit over the knee at its deepest.

I hiked up the Y-shaped valley, admiring the high rocky cliffs above that stretched up to flat-topped mesas (ridges all capped flat by dacite). I closed in on the two women. It appeared that the lead hiker was faster – she kept stopping to let the other woman catch up. Of course, I was booking it so I wouldn’t get caught in open meadows by the afternoon storms. But it, of course, deeply pleased me that I could outpace hikers half my age!

As we rounded a corner and headed up a wedge-shaped valley between mesas, I caught up to the women. They seemed as disappointed as me that our plans were the same and had converged. They seemed surprised when I said I was trying to move fast so I wouldn’t get caught by storms – they didn’t think there was rain forecast. What? How can you go hiking in the high country and not think storms will develop when they’ve formed every day this week and the forecast says 30% chance today?!?

They let me go ahead, though, and soon, I was climbing out of the tributary on an eroded trail amongst grasses and wildflowers. Lava flows and tuff sheets (condensed ash) outcropped on the slopes above me as we climbed higher and higher to reach Silver Park, a high plateau of volcanics whose upper slopes were topped with dead spruce trees. Most of the Rio Grande National Forest (greater than 80 percent) has been decimated by the little beetles.

Most of the volcanic rock we climbed through as we hiked and climbed up from the creek was Wason Park tuff erupted early in the South River caldera cycle around 27.1 mya. As we topped out in Silver Park, and wandered through the large meadows, we hiked on early lavas from the San Luis Caldera complex which erupted soon after the South River caldera eruptions.

I stopped for only one short snack break – where a rock was an appropriate height where I could sit on it and rest my pack on it without having to take it off.

While snacking,I looked at the map and tried to match the landscape to the map. It’s one of my joys in hiking and biking – matching the landscape to the topo lines and creating a mental map in my head of what is where and how it is related geographically. Then I add the geomorphology layer to it in my head, and I’m looking at 30 million years of history in topographical relief – the story of the landscape taking on time and depth.

Uggghhhh. My shoulder had been screaming at me for most of the hike, but at around mile six, it told me it was pretty much done. So near the high point of the trail, I zigged and zagged my way upslope through fallen trees to stash my big pack among them.

I pulled out my 70g Ultra Sil backpack (it folds into the palm of your hand) and loaded it up with all my food and toiletries (so animals wouldn’t nibble into my pack to get to it while I was away). I then grabbed my cooking pot, water filter and all five collapsible water bags, as the only source of water is at the base of the geologic area (I don’t have my cooking gear with me on this overnight hike – but I did bring the cooking pot as it’s the easiest way to collect water to put through the filter).

I then continued my traverse across the high meadow before the trail dropped down to the road. I’d been hearing and seeing all the ATVs, side-by-sides and other OHVs on the road in the distance for the last mile, but then we had to join them for the last ½ mile or so to the geologic area.

It pisses me off to no end that they’ve cherry-stemmed the road out of the wilderness so that vehicles can drive to the Geologic Area. There you are, all ensconced in the wilderness experience in a wilderness area, and there are vehicles in it!!

I was still hiking quickly, as I could see storm clouds building, and there were already rumbles of thunder in the far distance. As I descended the steep road, I was very glad I’d left my pack at the high point. I had no idea where we would camp later, if we weren’t going to camp in the dispersed camping area at the base of the geologic area. However, based on the number of vehicles I was seeing, I was glad I wouldn’t be camping next to all those people coming and going from that parking area.

There was rumbling thunder not far away as I hiked the mile-long loop around the Wheeler Geologic Area. There were plenty of people that hiked to an overlook but no one on the remainder of the trail – it’s steep in places and rises to almost 12,000 feet. The best views, however, are from the main overlook, so really I just wasted time hiking the loop that I could have been pondering the geology from the overlook. I’m still glad I did the loop, but it’s not necessary to get the best views.

Wheeler Geologic Area exposes outflow tuff sheets from the San Luis caldera complex that erupted within the La Garita caldera. It’s an eroded area of hoodoos, spires and cliffs that are tucked away among mesas and high altitude meadows – seven miles from the nearest trailhead. It started out as a “Monument” but was demoted to a “geologic area” due to lack of visitation. That is no longer the case – I saw at least 15 OHVs and their occupants today – it felt very overrun and really detracted from what could be a very awe-inspiring experience.

Some of the thunder started to be a bit uncomfortably close – especially knowing that I had a couple miles to hike back to my pack and I still needed to filter water for the night and following morning. If I’d had an alpine start, I probably would have had another hour to enjoy the area before needing to head back, but I made do the best I could with the time available.

After spending time at the overlook putting the story all together in my head, I booked it back down to the creek. There, I spent 20 minutes collecting and filtering five litres of water. I then filtered another litre while the thunder grew closer and closer and the thunderheads grew ever taller. I drank that litre in one go – ahhhh, nothing better than freezing cold, high altitude stream water!

I then headed back up the trail. I saw the two women setting up their tents on the edge of the parking area as I was leaving. I was so glad I wasn’t camping there with all those people and all that vehicle exhaust! I was also very glad my shoulder wasn’t going to have do that steep uphill out of there first thing in the morning with an overnighter pack weight.

But I still had to get back to my pack as the sky grew darker and darker. There’s nothing like a whip-like hurry-up than advancing dark clouds and hiking exposure! I scrambled forth, watching a storm develop in front of me as the one behind me started getting angrier and more vocal with thunder.

I got back to my big pack, dumped my daypack and water bags in the top, set the pack on a fallen tree, wrestled the pack on with only minor shoulder aggravation and then hurried on.

After I’d met the women this morning, I’d pretty much immediately decided that I was not going to camp at the geologic area. I hate camping around other people if I can avoid it.

So I had been scoping out potential campsites all along the way this morning as I hiked in. But, camping options are much more limited now with all those dead trees. In the past, you could camp up among the trees, out of sight of the trail, and be somewhat more protected.

But the potential for those dead trees to fall are high… so you need to camp in a bit more of an open area. You still want to have some tree protection, but not within falling distance of those dead stags. No more cozy campsites in a copse of trees. It makes site-finding a bit more difficult.

I was hiking at about 3.5 mph, I think. But the storm was moving faster. It was gaining on me. But even if I ran, I wouldn’t want to go too far, as there was lightning and thunder bellowing forth from the huge thunderhead in front of me, too.

So, I decided I was not going to make it back to the one spot I thought had looked good on the way in. So I found another spot that was near a grove of trees at about 11,000 feet. It looked like I could get the tent set up so it was not within tree striking distance, but there would be taller trees nearby to distract the lightning from me.

I thought I had about 30 minutes until the storm reached me. I thought maybe I had long enough to get to that next spot I’d noted, but not being sure how long it would take to get the tent set up with one arm, the alternative spot seemed the best option.

So I climbed up above and out of sight of the trail and located a pretty flat spot. I pulled the tent out, unrolled the fly and body, laid down the ground sheet… and realised it was all do-able with one hand. It would just take longer (as I’d found with all activities over the past 10 days).

So I flicked the poles together and then inserted them in their holes. I used my knees to hold the poles while I attached the clips, and used my feet to hold down one edge of the tent while I pulled the other side taut to peg it out. It was all do-able. My shoulder was well and truly done for the day, but the tent did go up. I just substituted other appendages for various tasks.

I still had a bit of time to spare before the storm came, so I sat on a nearby log and surveyed the surroundings while I ate some salmon packets and gluten free cookies and crackers. I matched the map to the landscape and which rock types were where. Then the edge of the storm reached us with a light pitter patter of rain drops while the sun remained shining.

And so I crawled into the tent, and here we are now.

The big, angry storm heads down the drainage next to us, closely following the Continental Divide. (It dropped enough hail to cover the ground back at the geologic area – as the women tell me the following day). The storm in front of us slides off to the east. And so I doze.

All afternoon the storms come and go. Somehow, I’ve picked a good spot, and the worst of the storms seem to go around me. Still, every time the tent starts to dry, there’s another storm. But I don’t mind. My site is a bit exposed, but not really that bad. You’d just have to be terribly unlucky to get hit by lightning in that little tent well below the crest of the slope and down below the tallest trees.

So I listen to the storms approach, I count the time between lightning strike and thunder, and then listen to them roll on down the drainages heading east. There’s a lot of physics involved in storms, in fact there’s a whole area of physics called Atmospheric Physics.

I laugh about how I took a 300-level “Weather and Climate” subject as part of my undergraduate degree at uni. I was very excited for that course because I’ve always liked weather and science, but the instructor turned out to be awful.

After the first test, I realised I could get high scores on the tests just reading the textbook and never attending one of those terrible, boring lectures. The tests did have physics problems and math questions related to weather though.

All of the other students were Engineering majors – this class was just an ‘easy’ elective for them. They would actually bring their fancy graphing calculators for the tests so they could answer those physics questions. I figured, for me, an educated guess was as likely to yield the correct answer as actually trying to do the math. (And I did not have a calculator anyway!). The tests were all multiple choice. You had a 25% chance of randomly being correct – with a bit of thinking and elimination, I increased the odds for most questions to 50%.

And it worked. When I would go check out the test results posted in the hallway outside the professor’s office, I consistently was in the top 3 scores in the class (it listed the last 4 digits of your SSN, your score out of 100 and then rank in the class). I always finished the test way earlier than any of those guys punching away on their calculators, and I always got a funny look as I went up to turn in the test just 10 minutes after the start. I KNEW all of the other answers, and I am a very fast reader, so it didn’t take long to do a 50 question test if you weren’t doing the calculations!

In the evening, the sun sets between storms, throwing light on the clouds and producing a few small rainbows. The clouds vary in colour and texture, from deep midnight blues in thick, long clouds to light and wispy, light grey clouds that fling upwards with the updrafts. There are deep white anvils receding in the distance and chunky, puffy cumulus nearby.

I look down on the Nelson Mtn Tuff that outcrops along the eroded creek lines and think about the 10-15 miles it traveled to get here. I look at the dacite that caps the eruptive sequence of rocks across the valley. It was a more lava-like flow, and 25 million years later, it still looks like a fresh layer of syrupy frosting that has seeped into and coated the rocks below like a ‘rock cake’.

I soak in all the silence between storms – far enough away from that 4WD road and a couple miles from the dispersed campsite so that I do not hear any humans. As the sun drops, I go to hang the bear bag. The one advantage of all those spruce beetle trees, and all that associated deadfall, is that there are lots of trees that have fallen against other trees, and that provides many more options’ to throw a rope over.

My first pick is not going to happen. I tie the rope around a rock, but I just can’t throw it high enough with my left hand. You also have to note that I cannot throw my bad arm back as a counterbalance, so I have no real ‘heave ho’ to fling that rock up high.

So I eventually give that up and find a fallen tree that is not so high. I manage this throw, but in order to get the bag 10 feet off the ground, it has to be snugged right up to the top. So any rodent could just amble along the fallen tree and reach right down to the bag. Who knows – the bear could crawl along the tree branch, too, maybe?

Oh well, it will have to do. I have seen no signs of bear today at all, so I’m not overly concerned. The bag and its contents are going to get wet though. There are more storms around, but at least I managed to do something between storms and not get soaked doing a bad job at bear bag throws.

The night stays warm. I just put my sleeping bag over me like a quilt. It’s pretty scary to be this warm at this altitude in summer. Climate change isn’t a thing for the future. It is here now. And it’s been ramping up since even before I used to live here.

As the night takes over the sky, I think about my friend Mike’s response to my recent email. I’d asked him why I feel so frustrated over my parents’ health habits. I just can’t believe how much they drink and how much processed food they eat. It’s even worse than last year. It totally befuddles me that you would eat stuff that you absolutely know is terrible for you, particularly for my diabetic mom.

Mike says it’s because I love them a lot and don’t want to lose them. Their poor diet and alcohol consumption will make them die quicker, and have a poorer quality of life in the meantime, and I don’t want that for them or myself. He says I’m just living out Dylan Thomas’ poem in real life and that it’s accentuated because I worked so incredibly hard, gave up so much and spent so much money to get my own quality of life back. It must be hard for me to see others not willing to do the same. He says I’m just going through the very beginnings of grief as I’ve already lost the parents I once knew, as their health declines.

Well, crap. He’s right. Mike is ALWAYS right.

So I think about the Dylan Thomas poem for awhile and what I can do so that I don’t end up like my parents in their ever-shrinking world and declining health. Mike says he can assure me I will definitely be one that rages against the dying light – because I have always been that sort of person. “People like you that live their life on their own terms are not ones to slip quietly toward death and accept that poor health is just part of aging,” he says.

Yes, he is right. Science has advanced so much. My parents’ generation is one that takes a doctor’s opinion as gospel. They don’t seek out second or third opinions. They treat symptoms with pills, instead of tackling root causes. They believe in genetic determinism and that whatever happens to you is what you were doomed to because of genes.

But we know better now. We know that for most diseases you inherit a genetic predisposition – but this is just a heightened risk, it doesn’t mean you’ll develop the disease. You have to turn that gene on through diet, lifestyle and environment (e.g. exposure to carcinogens).

Pretty much any disease you develop in adulthood is probably a lot your fault because you choose what you eat, where you live and how much you exercise.. My thyroid issues… my fault. It’s the “gateway” autoimmune disease. Don’t fix up your diet and lifestyle after that diagnosis… and you are in line for more autoimmune issues to come.

We also know the gut microbiome is involved in… just about everything. You don’t have to have ‘gut issues’ to have a messed up gut. Gut dysbiosis is found in more than 93 percent of Type 1 diabetics. Inflammation is a major root cause of most disease, and science is gathering more and more evidence that inflammation usually starts in the gut.

So, yeah, all the crap my parents are dealing with does not have to be my future. Cancer predispositions… yeah, very little cancer (less than 10%) is related to having an inherited risk. And even if you do have an inherited risk, you’ve still got to turn the gene on.

Will I age? Will I lose the ability to do stuff?

Yep. But I can get really strong and improve my aerobic fitness now, so I have a much higher base to detract from later with age-related muscle loss. I can keep eating healthy foods. No refined sugars or simple carbs, no alcohol, a focus on whole foods, heaps of veggies and at least 100g protein a day. No processed meats and only a little red meat with kangaroo preferred over beef….

Sounds hard… but I’m already doing that and more. I just have to KEEP doing it. I can see what my future will be like if I do not, and that’s a sad quality of life that I do not wish to bear. I feel very sad for my parents, knowing the quality of life they could have and knowing that they are a generation too early to realise that you have a lot of agency with your health and that you have to go after root causes instead of symptoms. I’ll enjoy the time I have left with them, though Mike does point out that all the fun stuff is likely behind us, and all the hard stuff will just get harder and harder.

I do manage to sleep and find a spot that my arm is okay with for a period of time before needing to be shifted. I suppose going for an overnight 10 days after an injury that’s looking like 4 months to heal (if my pubmed research is right) may be a bit premature. My arm definitely hurts a fair bit worse than it did yesterday. I have probably set myself back a bit – but how much? I definitely needed to do some sort of La Garita hike after looking at maps for so long.

About 2am, the tent fly ruffles with a breath of wind. Then, somewhere to the southwest, some ice particles get together, collide and enough of them do it at the same time, that electricity is discharged. I hear a distant rumble that rolls on and on.

The tent fly ruffles again, air being sucked toward an updraft, I suppose. Remember, I didn’t do the calculations on the physics questions on my Weather tests.

The storm grows closer. It’s odd. Monsoon season storms usually build in the afternoon with heat but dissipate as the sun sets and the earth cools. But I guess it attests to how warm it’s stayed here overnight tonight. I’m at 11,000 feet and never actually have to crawl into the sleeping bag. Crazy. It’s a different world to when I backpacked here 28 years ago.

The tent lights up with flickers and fingers of illuminated darkness. The thunder rolls are long and booming. That’s a biggie storm for this time of night. Slowly, the storm advances and the time between lightning flash and thunderclap diminishes. When I first hear the rumbles, it’s at least seven miles away.

The thunder gets pretty continuous and louder. The flashes of light give the tent a strobe-light disco feel. But I like it. I’m enjoying my senses being engaged and being out amongst the weather and wilderness. Remember, the only thing I’m scared of in life is lightning. But tonight, for whatever reason, I just enjoy listening to that storm come in.

Soon enough, it is right overhead. I’m not missing this one. It’s not rumbling down the Continental Divide one drainage over. It is HERE!

Now, it’s something I learned a long time ago in my outdoor career, but something that is confirmed tonight. When you see a flicker of lightning that stutters as it flashes, you’ll be able to get in at least one “one-one-thousand” count. The lightning may be close, but not too close.

However, if you see a quick flash with no stutter, just a quick brightening of light, like those old- timey cameras where the guy stuck his head under a drape in a box… well, that lightning is right above you. It is right there. The thunder is simultaneous, or just a “wuh” out of a ‘one-one-thousand’ away.

There are three or four of those accompanied by such percussive explosion that I can feel it in the earth beneath me. The earth absorbs the sound wave and I can’t help but flinch whenever there is that short flash, instead of that longer flicker.

The storm matures and drops a downpour of rain. My nice, dry tent… is going to be wet to pack up in a few hours. The storm sits there for 20 minutes before it finally rumbles on down the valley and then dissipates. It’s like it had to make up for all the other storms that seemed to go around earlier.

My alarm goes off at 4.30am. I want to get back to the trailhead before 11am – the meeting time I’ve set with my parents. There are storms likely again today and I want us to get down off that gravel road before it rains. I don’t think my dad would really like that much.

So I pack in the dark and moist air. The tent is wet from condensation inside and last night’s rain outside. It is still not cold. My shoulder is very stiff and aches considerably. However, I do manage to stuff my sleeping bag in its compression bag. I use one hand, lots of curse words and a foot. It’s a brand new bag, so it’s still got a lot of loft, and it’s a challenge. I can’t get it in enough to roll down the enclosure, but it’s good enough.

I put on my raincoat before disassembling the tent. Everything, all around, is very, very wet, including the soil, the rocks, the logs, and the air. There is fog in the distance and clouds covering the rising sun. It is not typical to have this much moisture around in the morning. It means the storms will probably develop early today.

I get the tent down, rolled and stuffed in its bag, using one hand, lots of curse words and my knee. My only problem is that there is nowhere good to set the pack to wriggle into it. I cannot pick it up, throw it over one shoulder and then wriggle the other shoulder into the harness. My arm definitely does not do that. And putting the pack on the ground, sitting, wriggling in, and then getting up requires one arm to go out for balance and one arm to push off the ground. My arm will do neither of those (comfortably at least).

But that is what we have to do. I put the bag on a flat rock, sit in front of it, painfully wriggle both arms into the harness and then lean over sideways to the left. I put my left knee on the ground, push off the ground with my left hand and bring my right foot in next to my left knee. As I push off the ground, I try to keep my right arm pinned next to me. WIthout two arms for balance, it is a bit awkward and I stagger a couple steps as I lift up. But I make it and don’t end up turtling myself. Gosh, injuries suck.

As first light becomes dawn, we take off back down the trail. It is muddy and slippery and my shoes get caked up pretty quickly. But it’s a quiet morning except for the squelch and squish of my shoes.

As we curve into another meadow, I see movement in my peripheral vision. I stop and then see eight elk gliding up the slope in uniform ease. They bunch up and then spread apart as they move quickly up the slope and then disappear over the crest of the hill. What a way to start the day!

I head on down the trail, brushing against all of the saturated bushes. My pants get soaked pretty immediately, and my shoes get so wet, it’s as if I had walked through ankle-deep puddles. After a while, I don’t even try to go around puddles or wet bushes. I just push through and think those women who will be behind me can thank me later for getting all the water off the bushes for them.

We descend as the clouds roll in and over, dark and misty-looking. But it never does rain. I see two more elk bounding away into forest cover as I rejoin the upper reaches of the creek. Run, run, hunting season starts soon!

I reach the creek and decide to just wade across. My pants and shoes are not going to get any wetter. Luckily, the creek has only risen to mid-thigh height and isn’t flowing too swiftly to cause any anxiety in crossing. In the back of my mind, I was kinda wondering what it might be like given 12 hours of on and off storms yesterday.

Then I’m just hoofing it back up the three uphill miles to the trailhead. I’m going to get there plenty early which is good. I’ll be able to spread my tent and sleeping bag out to dry a bit.

As I go, I think about how grateful I am to be out here. The shoulder has been really crap today, and I’ve got to loosen the straps off heaps so that the pack weight is pretty much only on my hips. This makes it sway a bit since it’s not snug to my back. This, in turn, is a bit hard on the back. But it’s not for too long, and I’m just glad I could manage it at all.

My America trip is coming to a close. It’s time to go home to my real life. I enjoy seeing my family and friends each year, but my life is not here, and I’m always ready to get back to Oz when the flight nears. I don’t know how many America trips there will be in the future – once my parents are gone, I can’t see returning very often at all. And who knows what sort of care they will require in the future, and how we’ll handle all of that. At least we had some fun this trip.

I get back to the trailhead. A group of blokes are camping nearby. They’d ridden down to the geologic area yesterday on four-wheelers and I’d talked to them there. One guy comes up on his ATV and says, ‘hey, how did you survive last night on the trail? The storms were pretty rough and we were thinking of you.’

I tell him I was fine as I’d got my tent set up before the storms and my tent is waterproof, so I stayed warm and dry. He says they got caught in a hail storm coming back from Wheeler and that they had hail at the campsite last night. He shows me some pics. I tell him I never had any hail at all!

They are hunters from Missouri. Normally they hunt in northwest Colorado, but there was a hard winter and big die-off of elk up there two winters ago, so they are waiting for that area to repopulate. The unit here that they’ve been allocated this year is new to them, so they are here just sussing it out before they come back in season. I tell him that I saw 10 elk this morning in Sliver Park and he just sighs and says, “Yeah, that’s Unit 51, and it’s very hard to get that allocation.”

It is sunny but quite cool. Clouds from lifting fog cloaking the valleys below shift upslope and cover the sun from time to time. I get everything spread out over the picnic table and surrounding grass and then just soak up the sun.

My parents arrive about 10.40am, and they are happy to see me safe and well. They did not have storms in South Fork last night, just some rain. I pack up all of my stuff and then we have excellent sandwiches there as an early lunch facing the distant mountains and all of the rocks erupted from different caldera phases. My mom has ordered the perfect sandwich for me – turkey, other good toppings, no cheese and gluten free bread.

We then head down the 10 miles of gravel road. Its condition is considerably worse than yesterday after all of the storms, but it’s still easy in my parents’ Honda CRV. On our way down, we see an older woman on a gravel bike. She’s churning her way up slowly, her long grey hair in a braid beneath her helmet. WOW – she looks quite old and she’s way up the road at high elevation. She’s riding solo and has a big grin. THAT is who I want to be at that age!

Once back to the main highway, it’s about 1.45 hours home. We travel through the edge of the San Luis valley on our way, with all of that volcanic debris lumped into mountains to our left, the wide, spreading desert valley to our right, and the Sangre de Cristo Range far to our right. It’s an impressive landscape in scale; it’s more impressive when you know the geology that underlies it.

The trip has been a success. I’ve definitely regressed a bit pain-wise, but I have not re-injured anything. It still feels disappointing not to do a longer hike, but I’m grateful that my parents were happy to help make an overnight hike work. I could have just borrowed a vehicle and driven down to the trailhead myself, but hopefully they’ll have some good memories from the rail-biking at least.

It’s less than a week before I fly back to Oz. At least this overnight trip proved to me that I can carry the pack. I’ll have more weight in it when traveling back to Oz, but I won’t have to carry it nearly as far in one go, at any point along the way. I am very happy – I thought I was going to have to buy a rolling suitcase for my gear to travel home. Oh, the indignity. Now we at least don’t have to suffer that!

I’m not sure what I’m doing when I get back to Oz. I still don’t know if we were successful with the grant application I wrote that would mean one more year of work. There is no way I can take off on the bike, though. I wouldn’t even be able to reach the handlebars very well or steer the bike at the moment.

So I guess we’ll transition from ‘experiments in physics’ to ‘experiments in patience’ once we get back home!