Navajo Basin

We descend a steep path that quickly connects with another trail. We proceed east and are slightly gaining elevation again. Off to our right, just out of sight, we can hear the West Dolores River tumbling over rocks. Within three-quarters of a mile, the forest opens up and we are at the shores of Navajo Lake.

At 11,160 feet high, and flanked on both sides by monster mountains, this blueish-green body of water is a sight to behold. Gladstone Peak and its prominent rocky summit dominate the backdrop. I reach down and wiggle my fingers in the frigid tarn.

As far as we know, there is no-one else up here. Just the sound of gently lapping water and a breeze with a hint of high-mountain chill.

We continue on the trail around the lake and across a field of talus where we see a yellow-bellied marmot prowling about the rocks. It waddles to a bed of plucked forbes and lays down, without much concern that we are watching him.

A high-pitched squeal comes from another direction and we squint to discern where it came from. Then, the squeal comes again, but from a slightly different angle. I catch a glimpse of a small tawny animal scampering through the rocks. Then he stops. He has the twig of a leaf in his mouth. When he stands, I detect the large mouse-ears on his head and quickly learn that there is a colony of pikas here. He quickly disappears into the debris of talus.

Near one of the bends in the trail, there are the remains of what appears to be a mountain goat. Most of the flesh has deteriorated to the skeleton, but some of the white fur remains, being short and stubby like the wool of a sheep. This discovery surprises me, as I had read nothing of mountain goats in the area. But it could be nothing else. The habitat is perfect for them.

We walk toward the east side of the lake to a stand of pine trees and find a perfect spot to pitch a tent next to the river.

At the west end of the basin, fresh water oozes from the lake and begins anew the West Dolores River. Jordan jumps from one stone to the next and makes it safely across.  Being less sure on my feet, I use a large and bulky tree branch that I find in the river to help me across.

At the south end of the lake, the steep talus slope runs directly into the water and the only way to walk on that end of the lake is along a narrow trail in the rock. We make it to the south-east corner and begin looking for a narrow “beach” that Jordan spotted earlier. We learn that the only access is by bushwhacking through a mess of growth that is taller than my head. I use my feet to step on the supple branches, and bend them down to forge a temporary path to the “beach.” 

From this narrow strip of dirt, we can see Dolores Peak in the distance, and the wind rushes up the basin, striking my face. 

We continue exploring, now with intentions of circumambulating the entire lower basin. The river rushes quickly at our left, tumbling over large rocks, with lush vegetation on both sides. The Colorado Columbine seems to grow well here.

Scattered near the base of the slope are several old scraps of wood and a rusty fifty-gallon barrel. These are probably remains from an old mine. Judging from the slight indention in the contour of the rocky slope, we postulate that a mining adit was here at one time.

Not too far ahead, as we are following the river upstream, the entire river disappears. Jordan walks a little closer to discover that it is gushing from large boulder-strewn step in the basin. We walk beyond it and find that the river is flowing again.

Finding myself thirsty from the hike, I kneel down at the water's edges, remove my glasses and hat, and lower my mouth to the stream and drink from the cold water as it rushes quickly by. Then I dip my entire face below the surface, leave it there for just a moment, then pull it from the water and wipe off the excess wetness with my hands.

We walk upward to the edge of a hill where we have an excellent view of the entire lower basin. Above us is a large shelf of rock that separates the lower from the upper basin. I don't know what it looks like up there yet. We will find out tomorrow.

To our right, down the hill and then back up a slope of talus, there is a large path in the rock that angles downward, almost perpendicular to the hiking trail that is above it. It almost looks like one of those scrapes in the ground that some people attribute to aliens.

We hike toward it and find it is very large and heads toward the bottom of the basin. On the path, we find a rusty tin can and other old scraps of metal. I'm still not sure what the path is, but it probably had something to do with the mines. It seems to lead in a direction toward the rusty fifty-gallon drum and reclaimed adit that we found earlier.

At last we make it back to camp, and take a much needed rest. Before dusk I take another walk to the lake and watch the sunset while sitting on the rocks near the shore. The bright hues of a perfect sunset never materialize, but I watch as the sky grows darker and the clouds move in from the north. The breeze picks up and the lapping of the water becomes stronger against the rocks.

It is now the next day and we have just finished climbing to the summit of Wilson Peak. We have descended the saddle from Rock of Ages and are now standing in the upper Navajo Basin. Although we are beat and our feet are sore, we decide to leave the trail and explore the upper basin.

We walk down to the river, which is just a modicum of water flowing from the rocks. As near as we can tell, this is the very beginning. From here, the West Dolores River runs though the basin and then drops several thousand feet in elevation as other streams from the San Juan Mountains feed into it, eventually wending its way south-west toward the town of Dolores, where it feeds into the main branch of the Dolores River. From there it feeds McPhee Reservoir before making a journey through the rugged chasm of Dolores Canyon, now running due north, crossing Highway 90 at Bedrock, then taking in the clear waters of the San Miguel River. Then it takes a north-eastern direction and enters the isolated landscape of the Dolores Triangle, finally emptying into the mighty Colorado River near the Dewey Bridge. Put simply, this small, cold stream where we now stand is at the beginning of a very long journey.

The area around the stream is fertile with forbes and small grass, but no trees or shrubs like in the lower basin. Nearby, the water runs into tarn, or a small lake. The water is clear and blue, but what is interesting is that there is no outlet. Instead the water must go through a huge mound of of dirt and boulders.

I surmount the heap of rocks and as I get near the other side, I can hear the water flowing from deep within the ground. It sounds like noises coming from a pipe. The noise sounds hollow and it echoes.

Once on the other side, the river flows again and a carpet of green extends on either side.

Jordan tells me that if you soak your feet in the water for ten minutes and then lay down on the grass, it will help with aches and blisters. Supposedly he already tried it and lasted only two minutes.

I remove my socks and shoes and sit on the edge of a deeper portion of the fledgling stream. When I immerse my feet into the water, an instant shock seizes my entire body. It is freeeeeeezing! After only ten seconds, I pull them out, feeling a sensation between stinging and numbness. After going through this process about four more times, I decide that it is time to limp over (because I can't feel my feet) to the grass and lay down. I place a ball cap over my face and take a miniature snooze.