Backpacker

The mountains along the Sneffels Tra-verse look as sharp as an upturned saw.Center stage: Mt. Sneffels. At 14,158 feet,it owns the skyline with its jagged towers,couloirs, and snowfields. It was named bygovernment surveyors in 1874, after the fic-tional peak in Journey To the Center of theEarth, a novel published a few years earlier.This version of the Sneffels Traverse is30 miles, linking Last Dollar Pass to Ourayvia four huts with up to 8.6 miles and2,500 feet of elevation gain and lossbetween each. It’s an alpine roller coasterthrough meadows and lodgepole pines,with never-ending mountain views.“So what are these huts like?” my friendDerek asks as we slosh through meltingsnowbanks, circling the area where we thinkthe North Pole Hut should be.“They tend to be hidden with no signs,” Ilie, not admitting I’ve lost the trail.Finally, I spot the hut’s magnificentouthouse camouflaged in front of a pinegrove (even a card-carrying hut-hater likeme would still rather sit than squat). Andthere’s the hut.Sided with green metal to blend into theforest, the simple and small (200 squarefeet) structure is positioned for envi-ronmental intimacy. One of 22 similarlydesigned buildings in the San Juans, it fitsonly eight people. Like its brethren, theNorth Pole Hut operates on a strict reserva-tion system, preventing users from crashingothers’ parties. Most every night we’ll have ahut to ourselves.``````We hang dripping boots over the blazingstove. “Hey,” I plead with Derek, “easy onthe wood there.” Just because you canmake a hut warm as a sauna doesn’t meanyou should.Late that night a guttural, ursine growl-ing shakes me out of my sleep and I sit up,promptly banging my head on the upperbunk, looking for the bear. I rub my eyesand locate the source of the bestial throat-singing: the head of Derek’s bunk. I try tochannel compassion, not annoyance. Afterall, he’d be just as loud if we were sharinga tent, though I suppose my head wouldn’thave a lump on it.``````vvvOn day three, one of the longest climbs ofthe Sneffels Traverse deposits us, sore andpanting but in good spirits, in front of whatmust be the finest view in Colorado. We sit ona ridge beneath Mt. Sneffels’s Snake Couloir,snow-white and serpentine, which leads ina distinctive dogleg to the pointed summit.Ravens soar on air currents above us.We spend our last day at Burn Hut, onthe edge of a meadow-rimmed aspengrove. Bear tracks circle the cabin. Afterstashing our gear safely inside, we wanderwithout our packs, cruising on unmarkedtrails past pines and mossy boulders. Wesee 100-year-old inscriptions in the aspens,left here by ranchers and shepherds whospent long summers in these mountainsand probably would have killed for a hutsystem like this.Then the worsening weather gets trulyawful. Hail comes ricocheting through theleaves. A band of elk flees through the paletimber. We beat a hasty retreat.Back in our toasty rent-a-home, we peeloff dripping clothes, holding our palmsabove the woodstove. For once, I watchapprovingly as Derek stuffs the hungrystove with more logs. As I warm up by thefire, it dawns on me that my back hasn’tached for days. Nor have I been clenchingmy teeth at sharing a small room with toomany snoring strangers. And if I was in atent, I’d be managing my wet layers, tryingnot to touch the walls, while condensationdripped from overhead in that humid littleweather system. It’s hard not to feel wise insuch comfort.Luckily, it only took me half a lifetime tocome around.``````TRIP PLANNERThe San Juan Huts are equipped withpadded bunks, sleeping bags, Crazy Creekchairs, propane cookstoves, propanelights, woodstoves, and cookware.(Food drops can be arranged to furtherlighten the load.) Reservation $30/person per night; reserve online Contactsanjuanhuts.comCabin Convert (continued)VIEW WITH A ROOMBurn Hut