ALL THE BUZZ: BEEING IN THE SAN JUAN MOUNTAINS

In keeping with the tradition, now three years running, of doing Flight of the Bumblebees during a wilderness backpack trip, I attempted to coerce my faithful non-ham backpacking companion, Doug, into going with me on another mountain Bee trip.

Due to other obligations, Doug had only six days, so I planned a trip in the San Juan Mountains, just a half day drive from Flagstaff in southwest Colorado. Unfortunately, at the last minute, the “real world” bit Doug and he had to cancel. No stranger to solo wilderness travel, it was a no-brainer for me to decide to go anyway.

After a summer of record breaking heat and drought in the Southwest, I was looking forward to the daily thunderstorms and rain that hammer the San Juans during late summer. Sure enough, I drove through heavy rain on the final approach to the trailhead, near 10,900 foot Molas Pass. I was just about to put on my pack when thunder rumbled over the mountains to the west, announcing the approach of another storm. Having plenty of time to reach my planned camp, I decided to wait it out in the car. I enjoyed the heavy rainstorm that followed, but the skies soon cleared and it was time to hit the trail.

I planned the trip with shorter than normal hiking days. The expected daily afternoon rain was my excuse, but the truth was that I was a bit out of shape after a summer of little hiking due to the fire closures. Little did I know that this would be the last heavy rain of the trip, as the drought refastened its tentacles on the normally soggy San Juan Mountains.

The afternoon hike took me down the well-graded Molas Creek Trail into the Animas River Canyon at Elk Park. Many hikers start from Elk Park by riding the famous Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Scenic Railroad. Although the train will drop off and pick up backpackers at Elk Park, I knew I would have a hard time getting on the train with such short notice, and besides, I'd never hiked the Molas Creek Trail.

The final descent into the canyon offered fine views of the river and Elk Park, and more importantly, views of my return route. My plan was to hike up Elk Creek on the east side of the river, do a cross country loop around the headwaters, then return via a trail and cross country route along the north rim of Elk Creek Canyon. The cross country descent into the Animas River Canyon was a critical section of the route.

On the map, I'd picked out a feasible-looking route, based on my previous experience in the range, but it was reassuring to look it over with binoculars and see, firsthand, that there were no serious cliff bands or other obstacles. Still, it would be an impressive 3,600 foot descent.

As the light faded, I found a level spot in the forest off the trail, set up my little tent, and cooked dinner. The chill mountain air felt wonderful after the hot drive across the desert, and the sounds of nearby Elk Creek soon lulled me to sleep.

On Friday, I took my time walking up the good trail that followed the forested floor of the canyon. There were tantalizing glimpses of the high peaks above, and plenty of flowers to delight the eye, even in this drought year. Near the head of the canyon, I found a campsite, on the far side of a jumble of giant boulders. A pika sounded the alarm with a series of sharp peeps as I settled on a tent site in a little meadow between the boulders and the forest.

On Saturday, I followed the trail for another mile as it climbed up the steep upper canyon, then headed south, cross country, up a nameless canyon toward a nameless lake, perched in a glacier cirque at 12,560 feet, well above timberline. Other than some steep talus, the going was easy, and I had lunch at the lake. Using the need to acclimatize as a handy excuse, I stretched lunch out to two hours so I could wallow in this spectacular place.

Afterward, I wandered across the open tundra over an easy pass past Eldorado Lake, a place I'd visited on a previous trip along the Continental Divide Trail. From here, I swung around the very head of Elk Creek Canyon, then headed toward another nameless lake on the north rim of the canyon. I found a camp on the rim near the lake. Since the next day was Sunday, I picked the camp with Flight of the Bumblebees in mind.

In the morning, I decided to move about half a mile west along the rim before setting up my station. I found a perfect rock slab backrest nestled among the stunted timberline trees, at about 12,320 feet according to the map. Because I knew I would be operating at or above timberline, I was carrying the panfish pole 20 meter vertical- the same antenna I used during last year's Bee from the Wind River Range. A horizontal top wire strung to a nearby tree extended the range of the antenna down to 40 meters, when used with the autotuner in the Elecraft K1. Conditions seemed a bit rough- most signals were pretty faint. Each contact was a lot of work, and 15 meters was the most consistent band. Twenty only came up near the end of the four hour period. I pretty much worked everyone I could hear, but I couldn't hear all that many stations. After the results came out, I was surprised to see that there was a lot more activity than I thought.

From that experience, I've concluded that the 80 foot end fed wire, with counterpoise, that I carry on trips where there are trees for support, might work better than the panfish vertical, even where the trees are only 20 feet tall. I certainly had good results with it two years earlier in the Sierra Nevada, even when hung from boulders and walking sticks at a height of five feet.

After the contest ended, I packed up and walked north across the broad, 12,000-foot alpine ridges forming the Continental Divide. I always enjoy walking high ridges, and this one was particularly fine. Easy cross country walking, 50 mile views, and a cool breeze- what more could I ask? Eventually, I dropped into an emerald-green canyon and joined a trail, which took me to Verde Lakes and my planned camp. Actually, my planned site was occupied by another party, so I walked around to the other side of the lake.

On Monday I headed west along a faint trail, climbing past Lost Lake and up to a 12,600 foot pass. Here I left the trail and worked my way west to another 12,600 foot pass, where I had lunch. I could see my car at the trailhead, just 4 miles away as the crow flies, but unfortunately the 3,000 foot deep Animas River Canyon lay between me and the trailhead. A gentle descent along tundra slopes took me to the rim of the canyon, and timberline. I had been above timberline for most of three days- just the way I like it. Though steep, the descent into the canyon was easy enough, and I arrived at the river with time for some photography before I set up camp.

I got an early start on the final day, and climbed out via the Molas Creek Trail, reaching the trailhead in mid-morning. I spent much of the drive home scheming on where to do the Bee next year.

Photos:

049410 Elk Park and Mount Garfield from the Molas Creek Trail.
049432 A glacially carved side canyon above the flowers along Elk Creek.
049433 A pika sounding the alarm at my second camp, along Elk Creek.
049502 The trail at the head of Elk Creek Canyon. I left the trail at this point to start the cross-country loop around the headwaters of Elk Creek.
049504 Looking north into Elk Creek Canyon, down the nameless side canyon I've just climbed. My Bee operating site would be along the south rim of the canyon, visible as the first ridge below the skyline, toward the left edge of the photo.
049508 An unnamed lake at the head of the nameless side canyon, near Eldorado Lake.
049520 The view from camp on the south rim of Elk Creek Canyon, the morning of the contest. I moved about half a mile west along the rim before setting up the station.
049524 My pack, just before setting up the Bee station at 12,280 feet.
049530 Operating during the contest, with the 2,000 foot cliffs of Elk Creek Canyon in the background. The panfish pole support for the vertical/inverted L is visible, bent by the horizontal wire running left to a tree.
500830 The panfish pole vertical kit. The two bundles of wire at the top right are the radials and radiator. The wire wrapped on cardboard is the top wire. The wooden dowel marked with my call has the cut off end of an aluminum tent stake sunk into a hole at one end. It's used to support the fishing pole, which slips over the dowel. I padded the dowel with two rings of electrical tape so that the base of the pole is a sung fit over the dowel. The antenna is fed with TV twin lead, and with the top wire matches the K1 autotuner on 40, 30, 20, and 15 meters.
049604 A closeup of the station, showing the K1, solar panel on the removable lid of my pack, and the Palm logging computer. The NiMH battery pack is out of sight under the lid, to keep it out of the hot sun.
049611 Camp at Verde Lake on Sunday evening. A chill wind blew from the lake, so it was good to be in the tent.
049612 Making hot chocolate behind a wind wall created from my empty pack.
049625 Mirror-calm Verde Lake after sunrise.
049709 Flowers along the edge of Verde Lake.
049813 The Animas River.
049837 Elk Park at sunrise, during the hike out on the last day.

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Bruce Grubbs, N7CEE, an avid outdoorsman, QRPer and writer, is a contributing editor to The ARS Sojourner living in Flagstaff, AZ.