High Altitude Lines. A Yeti Tribe Story - Video

This adventure was something I’d wanted to do for a long time. The goal was to bike-pack for ten days through the San Juans, fishing alpine lakes and streams along the way—and buddies from the Yeti Tribe made the perfect team for it. The San Juans are my backyard—and the ultimate playground for people seeking adventure, solitude, and scintillating singletrack. It was the perfect formula for a mountain biking and fly fishing exploit.










We started our journey in Telluride, bike-packing a big loop to Silverton and then off the Colorado Trail and Continental Divide, ending our trip back in Silverton and hitching a ride back to Telluride.The team was deep on biking experience—all of them had raced on some level—but a couple of them were lighter on the fishing experience. Justin Reiter and I had been fishing since we were kids. He’s an Olympic snowboarder and shreds on his Yeti. Sam Simmons has raced all sorts of bikes, but never caught a fish. Dylan Stucki, a master mechanic and seasoned trail slayer, was basically born on a bicycle but had never rigged up a rod.







We quickly realized our trip through the mighty San Juans wasn’t going to be easy. The hills were steep, the rain relentless, and hike-a-bikes grueling. It was as if the mountains didn't want us there. With every labored pedal stroke forward, Mother Nature seemingly fought backward with equal might. For almost the whole trip, the weather was especially bad. Instead of Colorado’s typical powerful but short storms, we got pounded with chronic bad weather and rain storms that lasted for days. It made both the riding and fishing much more difficult. So far there had been a lot of pushing—not riding—our bikes, and no catching of fish.











Bikepacking pretty much just makes everything harder. Climbs that would typically be no big deal become much more difficult when you’re hauling all your gear. Cornering becomes sluggish, and the bikes become less responsive. Sometimes we got into a little trouble trying to rally a little too hard. We always told ourselves that we would try to keep the riding in control so we wouldn't hurt ourselves, but it’s hard to take it easy when you are bombing down a sweet trail on a plush trail bike.










During the first couple days of the trip between Telluride and Silverton, we spent far too much time sitting in our tents, riding out unrelenting rainstorms, and slowly losing our minds. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of tent chillin, but being cooped up with Sam for hours on end when I could be fishing a beautiful alpine lake, is a tough pill to swallow. Occasionally the boredom would reach unbearable levels, and we would attempt to fish in the cold rain. We didn’t catch anything, but the feeling of casting a fly rod produces more euphoria than listening to Sam’s dumb stories and snoring.











Through puddles, and streams and past dramatic cirques we pedaled on our way up. As we climbed up a beautiful glacial valley the skeletal remains of abandoned mines reminded us of a generation of people that was ridiculously tough. Beyond tough. Even though we were perpetually soaked, uncomfortable, and not catching fish, at least we weren’t hauling tons upon tons of lumber and steel up mountainsides for the fleeting chance of striking it rich. Nothing like little sobering perspective to keep you going.










We finally caught a break in the weather—and the fishing—and made an early morning attempt at an unnamed, 13,000-foot pass that would eventually lead us to Silverton. Steep, winding, relentless switchbacks guided us through the dark as we laboriously pushed our bike-packing rigs up the mountain. There is something about predawn alpine starts that seems to intensify the sense of adventure. Maybe it's the cool air or the rough transition from deep sleep to mouth breathing exertion. At any rate, we were rewarded with breathtaking views and a sunrise that will forever be stored in the “amazing” section of my memory.

















With a newfound sense of motivation and energy, we dropped into what would be the most glorious section of trail on the trip. Our bikes bounced over loose volcanic rock, and our tires dug deep into the tacky soil. Hootin’ and hollerin’, we blazed through a blur of wildflowers and subalpine fir. With a little help from gravity, we eventually made our way into the historic mining town of Silverton.










It was in the last few days of the trip that the fishing finally got good. We locked our bikes up to hike into the wilderness outside Silverton—where the fishing finally got good. We got hailed on and watched lightning come and go, and finally started reeling them in. The gnarly weather made the brief moments of clear alpine skies even more precious during our last days on the trail.






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Both mountain biking and fly fishing ignite emotions of triumph and dismay. The frustration of fixing a flat in the rain closely parallels the feeling of untangling a line snagged in a tree. The thrill of sending a steep line draws similar feelings to those that arise from fighting a savage trout. But most importantly, both sports are a catalyst for adventure, excuses to get out and enjoy the glory of the mountains with your best friends.

Words by: Ben Kraushaar – Trout Slayer or Instagram Fraud







Riders: Ben Kraushaar, Sam Simmons, Justin Reiter, and Dylan Stucki
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Directed by: Craig Grant & Joey Schusler
Cinematography by: Joey Schusler
Edited by: Craig Grant
Photos By: Joey Schusler, Ben Kraushaar, Justin Reiter, and Dylan Stucki
Sound Design: Keith White
Additional Footage by: Thomas Woodson
Story Editors: Hilary Oliver, Brendon Leonard
Motion Graphics: Good Fortune Collective
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MENTIONS: @yeticycles

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