Woods Lake to Navajo Basin

Woods lake is located in a beautiful forest setting in the San Juan Mountain Range in southwest Colorado. The lake is watched by the peaks of the Wilson Massif on one side, and the those of the Middle Peaks on the other. At 9,417 feet in elevation, Woods Lake is our launching point on our way to Navajo Basin, as we seek to hike Wilson Peak.

A flock of ducks lazily swim on the west end of the lake, next to the reflection of a thick stand of pine trees that comes directly to the shore. Low-hanging clouds linger from last night's storm, covering the highest tips of the nearby peaks.

The trail passes the southern flank of the lake and quickly we are in thick forest on a path that continually bends upward. I am hiking with my friend, Jordan, and we both carry heavy packs. I use a pair of walking sticks as a dog would use his front two feet. We quickly gain a rhythm and plod forward.

The path is wet, and muddy in sections. Tall growth on either side of the trail is moist, wiping its wetness across our clothes as we brush by. Some of the tall plants are as high as my eyes. The roots of the trees sprawl thickly across the path.

Soon into our hike, we cross a rivulet of water that runs beneath the trail through a culvert and continues down the hillside to Muddy Creek. This is the first of many small streams that we pass, all of them tumbling down the steep slope.

Thick timber remains constant, although twice we pass through an opening in the slope and we can see the distant mountains of Dolores Peak and Little Cone. The peaks are still shrouded in clouds and the floor of the slope is alive with yellow flowers.

I am surprised that we haven't seen any big game. The habit appears prime for elk. Instead, we spook a pine hen that flushes from her roosting ground and flies away.

We trudge along through the thick, moist air. Beads of sweat trickle from my forehead and a small patch of steam forms on my glasses. I feel the sting in my trapeziuses from the tug of the pack on my shoulders.

We stop to rest along the path and pull the packs from our shoulders. I take a long drink from my bottle and nibble a handful of trail-mix. Jordan sits on a log and massages his shoulder with the palm of his right hand. When the sweat on my forehead dries up and the sting in my trapeziuses has gone away, it is time for us to heave the heavy packs onto our shoulders again, buckle the straps, and continue up the trail.

We pass an elderly couple who are coming back down the trail. They are out for a leisurely walk, using walking sticks and carrying only water. They are the only people we have seen so far. We nod and say hello to them, without slowing our pace.

The trail slants a little steeper now and begins to zigzag up the slope. At a bend in the path there is a stream that cascades down the hill across the slick, wet rock, and is flanked by thick green plants on either side.

Then the slope begins to even out and we pass the remains of an old cabin with no roof, and walls only half way up, piled on top of each other like Lincoln Logs—perhaps an old mining cabin. Forest grass grows within the cabin perimeter.

Our upward trek now leads us to the tree-line where we leave the pines behind us and now enjoy a wide open view of the bulky mountain in front of us. Grass grows along the lower slopes of the steep hill, then gives way to an alabaster rock with coral streaks.

Here we arrive at the junction with the Elk Basin Trail. We have only traveled 2.2 miles, but it feels much longer. Coming down the trail is a man in his late twenties with dark hair and a splash of indigenous look to him.

“Where did you just hike from?” I ask him.

“Mount Wilson.” He has a haggard look and carries a small day-pack on his back.

“Wow,” I reply. “Did you camp out somewhere, or leave really early this morning?”

“I left around eight.”

Right then, he raises the first red flag.

“From Woods Lake?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go through Navajo Basin or . . .”

“No, I went around the basin and then up.”

We left from the same place only an hour and fifteen minutes after him, and although we hiked slow with our heavy packs, there is no way he hiked completely around the entire Wilson Massif and then to the top of Mount Wilson, which is at least a Class 3, if not a Class 4 climb.

“Yeah, it was tough. It seemed like you took two steps forward and slid back down.”

We learn he is from Erie, Colorado, by Boulder, and works as a Rural Mail Carrier there. He had spent time in the military and decided that it was time to get out and do something. He had been here several days, having parked his car at Woods Lake, and spent time hiking the Lone Cone Trail. It was there that he came across a bear on the trail and decided that it was time to turn around.

“The trail runs just to the north of those peaks over there. I don't know the name of them,” he says, referring to the Lone Cone Trail.

“That's Dolores Peak and to the right is Middle Peak,” I tell him.

“I didn't bring map. I probably should have.”

That was red flag number two.

Before we leave, he tells us his name is Alex and gives a firm military handshake. I'm sure he climbed some peak this morning, I just don't think it was Mount Wilson.

We continue up the trail, above the treeline, and into more spectacular scenery. Jordan finds a clump of bear scat on the trail and we are again reminded that this is bear country. Below us are long, steep, grassy slopes with thick stands of pine trees, and what I would consider perfect habitat for bears.

The trail crests a ridge that runs west toward Dolores Peak, then bends back to the east and descends into Navajo Basin.

Once at the crest, we sit down on the grass and rest our shoulders while enjoying the view. I pull an avocado from my pack, slice it in half with my knife, sprinkle salt over it, and scoop it into my mouth with a spoon. This truly is heaven on earth!

Below us, from the deep gulley of the West Dolores River, I can hear the tumbling roar of water and can see a distant waterfall that falls in a long cascade. 

To the east, between between two massive mountains, a narrow alpine valley begins to show its face. This is our destination. Atop one of these rocky bulks, there is distinct point that looks like a tooth, and is touching the clouds. This is El Diente, one of the fouteen-thousand foot peaks that we will not be climbing.

Not much further to go. We heave the packs back on and move down the trail, descending about three hundred feet into Navajo Basin.