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A few days separate us from our time at Canyon of the Ancients and our last camp from this fall trip. After a mangled tale of an ER (mis)visit and a return for refuge at Sage Canyon (this time camping just outside the Workshop Loft — thank you, Grant, for the use of your bathroom and heated towel rack), we depart the southwestern corner of Colorado and back through the Four Corners, venturing through Utah.

I notice the tracks as I return from a brief scouting trip. When deciding on a campsite for the night, reconnaissance is necessary: one, to verify personal safety; two, to ensure picturesque views and surroundings, but distance between neighbors (if applicable); and three, to establish an ideal bathroom situation. (Leave no trace, please.)

This particular survey satisfies one and three — I was returning from a number one break after the drive from Alta Lakes and Telluride when something catches my eye.

The “something” in this instance are animal tracks that run parallel to the dirt road we drove in on. I study them. There are multiple. Hooves and paws are apparent. Cattle makes sense. Horses, too. We know from Grant’s place in Sage Canyon that mountain lions have been recorded on their webcams up on the mesa property. And here we are on top of a mesa. A quick Google search suggests the paw prints could belong to mountain lions, and I’m relatively certain they are not bear tracks.

It’s something like midnight. A four-and-a-half-pound senior Chihuahua is tucked into her blanket and snuggled up next to my left rib cage inside my sleeping bag. Jen is asleep beside us.

It’s 35°F.

We have myriad layers happening: Jen wears a down jacket inside her sleeping bag with a puffy blanket on top. I’m in a similar arrangement, sans the jacket, opting for a merino long-sleeve base layer. I sleep hot. Last but not least, Grant kindly lends us a giant thrifted wool blanket. He also acquaints us with a cold weather–camping hack: fill a stainless steel Kleen Kanteen water bottle with boiling water, wrap it in a towel, and place it at the foot of your sleeping bag. Jen and her typically cold feet are happy to indulge in this revelation. (For the record, that water bottle was still warm the following morning.)

We roll into Rico, Colorado, parking in front of the local post office. It’s rustic. Cute. Mountain-town vibes are abundant. Like a peacock, the foliage on the drive from Cortez is in full plumage. During the drive, neither Jen nor I, and even Grant, can’t not marvel at the beauty that accompanied us during the drive here.

Rico is a pitstop, just over an hour from Cortez. It’s a popular stop outside Telluride, the idyllic town set against the San Juan Mountains. It’s in this range that we find camp for the night.

“Err, I just saw a head poke out.”

“What?”

“I think there’s a rat or mouse in our room.”

We find ourselves sitting by a heated pool in autumn temperatures at 7,200 feet. Santa Fe has been home for two nights, where we luxuriated in a king-size bed with our own pillows (we don’t leave home without them).

How We Got Here

Since the last missive, we parted ways with friends Mandy and Tyler and their two dogs after a lovely shared night and next morning in Bishop, California.

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