"All aboard!" isn't what one normally hears at the start of a weeklong backpacking trip, but then, most wilderness excursions don't begin with a 33-mile ride on a century-old railroad.
My wife, Dianne, and I are bound for the wilds of southwestern Colorado's San Juan Mountains. We plan to explore Chicago Basin, a onetime mining district located at timberline near a trio of precipitous 14,000-foot peaks. Getting to the trailhead requires a jaunt on the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad, and the ride begins early in the morning.While the rest of the town sleeps, the Durango depot buzzes with activity. Backpackers and sightseers amble about, shoot trainside snapshots and flash MasterCards in the gift shop. Eventually, folks stream into the gold-colored cars that trail a 1920s-era coal-fired locomotive. We load backpacks into the luggage boxcar and join them.
With a craving for coffee and a full 15 minutes before departure, I leave the train and dash across the tracks to the neighboring McDonalds, intending to get a quick cup to go. A dozen Boy Scouts banter in line ahead of me. Each tediously debates which McBreakfast to buy. Time expires before the Scouts do, so I'm forced to scurry back and reboard the train caffeine-free.
Moments later, whistle wailing and with a lusty hiss of steam, the engine lurches forward. Slowly, it chugs toward Silverton, a town allegedly named by a miner who bragged, "We may not have gold but we've got silver by the ton."
Mineral discovery sired towns, but railroads gave them life. Construction of Silverton's iron umbilical cord began from Durango in August 1881. Eleven months later, in less time than most highway departments take to patch a pothole, crews completed 45 miles of tracks connecting the two Colorado communities.
Most passengers ride all the way to Silverton, passing through the imposing scenery of the sinuous Animas River Canyon. Some, however, exit early at one of two wilderness trailheads along the way. At the first, Needleton, a onetime mining camp 2 1/2 hours north, about 20 of us get off.
We hoist backpacks and, looking like a string of two-legged pack mules, embark on a seven-mile haul into the Weminuche (WEM-in-ooch) Wilderness Area. At first, the path gently parallels the Animas, but after a mile, it turns skyward to follow an old wagon road crudely cut up the canyon. We trudge upward on a route paralleling the crashing cascades of Needle Creek.
After an hour's hike, Dianne suggests a break near a foot bridge spanning a tumbling side stream. Freed of our heavy loads, we investigate an obscure pathway that leads to a fallen town site. Among the ruins, a well-preserved two-hole outhouse, suggesting which structures miners built best.
Back on the main trail, we continue our trek upward. Twenty years ago, a flood devastated much of the former road, so the Forest Service re-routed the hikers' path to higher ground. We look down on the plummeting creek, a hundred feet below. Compacted snow from a winter avalanche still bridges the stream, and broken trees, looking like enormous spilled toothpicks, litter its wake.
At 11,000 feet above sea level, the trail enters the broad valley known as Chicago Basin. The slope abates and the creek meanders freely. Meadows, blazing with wildflowers, line trail and stream. Wide swaths of spruce and fir shelter the polychromatic glades from the barren peaks and ridges of the encompassing Needle Mountains.
Unlike most of the San Juans, which are largely composed of crumbly volcanic rock, harder granite and gneiss form craggy summits and spiny ridges in the Needles. With massive blocks and fingery claws pointing skyward, they look dark and foreboding. Mount Eolus, named for the mythical ruler of the winds, towers over all.
High on a near-timberline terrace, we discover a secluded campsite with an unobstructed view of the gusty peak. Tall trees veil our temporary mountain home, offering shade and seclusion. We pitch a small tent, unpack gear, then relax and meet some of the area's local residents.
A ground squirrel arrives first, darting about, picking up accidentally dropped bits of food. Soon, perching on a nearby branch, a pair of Clark's nutcrackers watch, ready to snatch unattended morsels. Later in the evening, a doe browses nearby, while a hundred yards away, two white-coated mountain goats dine trailside.
Dianne suggests that our camping spot might previously have been employed by Ute hunters. The tribe once called the San Juans their home, but the discovery of minerals in the mid-1800s forced an ownership change. Catering to the onslaught of hard-rock miners, the government bought off the American Indians and banished them from the mountains.
Prospectors found silver in the Chicago Basin in 1877, but local deposits consisted only of fissure veins where traces of mineral speckled ponderous volumes of worthless rock. Although miners staked many claims, they worked relatively few. Dianne and I plan to explore several of their sites.
At dawn, we zig and zag up the trail to the crest of Columbine Pass. The morning sun, sneaking up from the eastern valley beyond, greets us as we top the saddle. Several hundred feet below, a sapphire sky reflects from the glassy surface of Columbine Lake. Mining remains pepper the surrounding timberless slopes.
We scamper down the trail and cross the flower-dotted tundra skirting the lake. For hours, Dianne and I probe tailing piles, abandoned tunnels, collapsed shacks, derelict equipment and refuse heaps. Making a living here must have been difficult, but it's hard to imagine a more scenic work site.
On our final full day, we hike up to Twin Lakes. There, at the uppermost limit of the basin, a thousand-foot-high wall of crags and spires encircles two crystalline bodies of water. The bleached shell of a miner's shack stands alongside the shore.
We sit on the grass beside the lower lake, enjoying the area's isolation. Before long, a herd of mountain goats descends. We sit quietly, and soon the inquisitive animals surround us, munching grass and hopping from boulder to boulder.
Lengthening shadows suggest it's time to return to camp. Sauntering back, we pass a dilapidated log cabin positioned beside a deep mine tunnel. Twisted tracks, which once guided ore carts, still emanate from its mouth. No doubt, miners toiled hard trying to find prosperity in this dank hole.
But, despite all their efforts, no one found fortune in Chicago Basin. The district ceded only $200,000 in mineral wealth, and by the early 1900s, its small mining boom had faded. The last ore left the basin in 1934.
Time and food exhausted, we too must leave. Dianne and I pack up the following morning and retrace our route down the valley. With gravity on our side, we make quick progress to the Needleton siding.
The later afternoon train finally lumbers around the corner, and we climb onboard. Thirsty, I stroll to the snack bar and join the queue. A dozen lads banter in line ahead of me, each tediously debating which treats to buy. They must be the same Boy Scouts I met in Durango.
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ADDITIONAL INFORMATION
If you go . . .
When to go
Although trains run from May through October, the best conditions for high country backpacking usually occur from early July through mid-September. Wildflowers peak from mid-July through early August.
Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad
Reservations for the railroad are best obtained in advance. Be sure to request the backpacker train because not all departures stop at the wilderness trailheads. Round trip cost from Durango to Needleton is about $40. No pets are allowed on the train. Write the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad, 479 Main Ave., Durango, CO 81301, or call 1-970-247-2733.
Accommodations
Durango is a popular tourist town so lodging reservations are strongly suggested. They may be made toll-free through the Durango Chamber of Commerce, 1-800-525-8855.
Backpacking
Since Chicago Basin is in the Weminuche Wilderness Area, mountain bikes and motorized equipment are prohibited. Permits are not needed for private trips, but the Forest Service requests that groups be kept to 10 or less. Campsites should be situated away from trails and streams. Campfires are prohibited, so all cooking must be done on backpacking stoves. Drinking water should be filtered, purified or boiled.
For information or to order a map ($3), write the San Juan National Forest, Attn: Columbine East, 701 Camino del Rio, Durango, CO 81301, or call 1-970-385-1283.