“There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.”
On the Road, Jack Kerouac
Trembles en feuillage d’automne
On the roadside, thumb up, I have to keep watching the cars passing in front of me without even slowing down. I would really like a hitch to reach the trailhead of a long traverse through this part of the Rocky Mountains: the Weminuche Wilderness Area. I was planning on following a haute route, supposedly remarkable at this time of year, before coming back to my vehicle. It is autumn, it is southern Colorado. I parked my car not far from Durango. This place carries a very “Western” history: gold seekers, steam trains, old silver mines scattered everywhere in the mountains, even at altitude. I can’t wait… if only one car would stop! But this time I’m not alone. Sitting at my feet, my four-legged companion, Dyno, a young Australian Shepherd, one and a half years old, ready for a first adventure in the mountains.
Dyno et son sac à dos
After waiting 30 minutes, I have to accept the fact that nobody will stop. I could of course start this trail in the other direction, but the same problem would arise at the end when I would need to hitchhike back to my car. The last weather forecast being quite bad, it is probably wiser to accept hiking back and forth in the area and drop this initial project.
It is never easy to switch plans at the last minute: that means quickly studying the map, finding a new itinerary… and the first steps on the backup trail are always a little bitter.
The place we are heading to is well known in the 14,000-foot collector community. There are 58 summits above 14,000 feet in Colorado, and a classic challenge consists of ascending them all. The Chicago Basin, at the heart of the Weminuche Wilderness Area, gathers 3 of those 14,000-footers, enough to justify the summer crowds: in a single day, a strong hiker could add 3 peaks to his list. In October, I hope to be alone, or almost.
The trail starts downhill, slowly sinking into a fantastic golden aspen forest, leading toward the large and powerful Animas River. A solid wooden bridge over the river easily brings the hiker to the other side, the real gateway into the mountains. We still walk through dense and colourful woods before reaching our first bivouac spot. We haven’t met a single soul, and this first night at 8,400 ft will be cold and quiet: temperature drops to 23°F. Less than 48 hours ago, Dyno was still “enjoying” the Texan heat, and this transition is obviously too fast: she spends the first hours of the night shivering, which means the whole tent is shaking and keeps me from any decent sleep. Dyno ends up in a light sleeping bag I had brought along just in case.
A crisp morning air welcomes us as we step outside. It is still freezing, and the sun has not yet reached the bottom of the valley, hidden behind the high summits rising steeply on either side. Moving is the only way to warm up, and we quickly start walking up the stunning valley leading to the Chicago Basin. Dyno behaves very well, staying at my feet, carrying her little pack (she is loaded with her own food only). Autumn colours in the mountains are always incredible, forecasting the cold and snow soon to come. Days are shorter, light less harsh and direct… I always feel incredibly lucky to enjoy these moments in such wild places, almost alone, at this time of year. The tent set, there is little time left to fix dinner, tidy the bivouac spot, and catch the last colourful light before night settles in with a freezing cold at 11,200 ft. The sky is beautiful, and I feel mesmerised by it, but my young dog has already understood that the tent is more comfortable and she waits patiently by the door. I haven’t seen any other camp around, and I deeply savour this silence before falling asleep.
I’m not planning on making the ascent of all 3 peaks in the basin, but simply attempting the most accessible one: Windom Peak, 14,089 ft. I have no idea how Dyno will react at altitude, and I’m fairly certain the last stretch will already be covered in fresh snow. While slowly hiking up toward Twin Lakes, true glacial remnants, I try to imagine this place in summer, with tens of hikers going up and down this same trail every day. Selfishly, I realise I would probably never have visited during high season. The place is grand though, splendid even, but would I be able to appreciate it from the middle of a crowd?
Dyno climbs steadily and calmly, seeming to fully enjoy every minute of freedom in the mountains. Leaving the lakes behind us, the trail slowly disappears into a granitic maze and we must follow our own instincts toward the summit, which draws closer with every step. Around 13,100 ft the rocks are covered with snow, slowing us down, especially Dyno, who has no experience of this. Some 300 feet below the summit, she can no longer figure out how to move forward, sinking too deeply at every step. We stop here, alone, at around 13,800 ft, taking in the autumnal solitude in the middle of a wild landscape that seems braced for a harsh winter.
Descending toward camp, the weather is already changing, and a few snowflakes push us to walk a little faster. I had planned on spending another night at 11,200 ft, but it feels more reasonable to fold the tent and hike down, aiming to reach the car tomorrow, probably just ahead of the first big snowstorm of the season. Dyno slides on the last snow patches and seems to have taken a liking to this mountain adventure. We leave the Chicago Basin behind us, and walking away, I promise myself to come back, to go deeper into the Weminuche Wilderness Area, maybe a little further, following the high route that was my original motivation. Maybe with Dyno one more time.
Today, summer 2025, Dyno is no longer with us. She had been the best companion, following me into the mountains or the woods, always ready for a walk or a game. This hike in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado was our first adventure together, a memory of a beautiful bond that only kept growing stronger with time.
