JJCII, Dr Rob's advice is good, PARTICULARLY about the boots.
A transplanted Coloradan, back in '84 (That's 1984, Dennis.) opined we should go to his old stomping grounds and hunt the wily elk. I sez OK, not knowing any better.
No problem on anything except the boots. We went to Doctor Park, above Gunnison. 10,500 feet at the campsite. Opening morning, I hunted over a "little hill" above camp. Looking at the topo map, later, I figured out why there wasn't any air in the air, up there.
The night before the season opened, it snowed. Opening morning, the snow melted. Wet feet. That night it got colder, and snowed again. Didn't melt. Changed to dry boots and only got a "little" wet in the tootsies. Next morning, the radio sez, "...and in Gunnison, it's four degrees."
"Are we having fun, yet?", I asked. Nobody said "Yeah!"
The water jugs were frozen solid. In October! So, melt snow for coffee. Oops! First, heat the Coleman generator in the campfire, so you could light the stove. Then melt more snow. You got any idea how much snow melts to how little water? Boil the canned goods, so something not totally solid would come out when you opened the can. Same for eggs. Whee!
And more snow.
I suggested that since other hunters were reporting that the elk had all bailed off the mountain, we could prove we were as smart as a damned elk...
All in all, it was more of a learning experience than a hunt, but I've had worse times. Saw a few elk, nuthin' shootable, saw some mulies, had some good campfire sessions. Lotsa highway entertainment on the way home, what with frozen passes and such.
Quien sabe? Might get back!
Later, Art