Crystal Lake

Up to now, I’ve been buying my timed entry passes well in advance. They released the vast majority of passes back in June for June and July. They also release a tranche of passes two days in advance. That is if you didn’t buy a pass in advance for, say, July 1, and you decide you want to go, they make an additional number available on 6/29 at 8 am MT. If you look at a date that has sold out, it’ll show how many they’ll release 2 days in advance. For the 6-8 am slot, it looks like 65 passes each day.

Wanting to hike on Wednesday, I signed on Monday morning to get a pass. I refreshed my page promptly at 8 and made my purchase. By the time I selected the date, time, and type of pass, it said only 40 of the 65 were still available. After completing the process, I went back to see how many were left. At 8:03, it was down to 7.

Clearly, the best way to get a pass is to buy one when the bulk of them are released. And, as it turns out, passes for August become available on July 1. Of course, I’ll be on the trail when August passes become available but I’m thinking that they won’t get snapped up much faster than they were in June. When I made my first reservations, there were hundreds available for each day/time I wanted.

Having obtained my pass, the next issue was where to hike. I’ve done a pretty thorough job of visiting lakes that are readily accessible. What’s left will either require camping or are at elevations or in locations where there’s likely still too much snow on the ground. And I’d like to avoid the crowded trails in the Bear Lake area. With this in mind, I decided on Crystal Lake, which I last visited back in 2011. It’s high enough that snow might be a problem, but the higher sections of trail are on south facing slopes.

Wednesday, July 1

I was thinking I wanted to be on the trail at about 7:30. I thought the lake is seven and a half miles up the trail, but I see that the Foster guide says it’s 7.9, with 2,960′ of elevation gain. I figured I could maintain a two mile per hour pace up to Lawn Lake, then somewhat slower for the bit above eleven thousand feet.

I left the house at 5:30 and, encountering little traffic, I was at the trailhead a few minutes before seven. There were plenty of empty parking spaces, and a couple of hikers started on their way while I was getting ready. I hit the trail spot on 7:00. Before leaving the car, I sprayed on some mosquito repellent. I don’t normally carry it with me for a day hike and hoped that a single application would do the trick.

The first section of trail gets your heart going right away, climbing about 700′ in a little over a mile. That’s about double the average rate of climb for the entire hike. The trail to Lawn Lake is a pack trail, so it’s mostly free of roots and rocks and never gets too steep.

The first navigation point is the junction with the Ypsilon Lake trail. I didn’t catch up to the hikers who left the parking lot before me, but I did encounter a group of four hiking back to the trailhead. If they were camping, they left their campsite quite early, and I can’t imagine how any day trippers were already on their way out.

The next section of trail, a bit over four miles, more or less follows Roaring River. When the river is in view, it’s quite dramatic. The Lawn Lake dam failed back in 1982, releasing something like 30 million cubic feet of water at a peak rate of 18,000 cubic feet per second. The effects are almost as visible today as they were nearly 40 years ago. The careful observer will note places where the trail was washed away. That really doesn’t explain it properly: it wasn’t so much that the trail was washed away, but that the hillside the trail passed over was washed away.

There are places where a hundred feet of hillside looks to have been scoured away. Trees on the edge of these cliffs are dead but still standing, half their roots supported only by air. Continuing erosion is obvious. Not just earth being washed away from above by rain and snow, but the stream still undercutting the banks. In wider spots, the deluge deposited large piles of tree trunks. In narrower places, everything was washed away, leaving bare bedrock. In some places, the flood scar is visible from miles away. The pace of life is slower at altitude; even in forty years, new trees and shrubs have barely started growing back.

Mummy Mountain and flood-scarred Roaring River

For the most part, this section of trail is easy walking. Fairly long stretches of nearly level trail are broken by short, steeper climbs that feature a few switchbacks. As the trail more or less follows the stream, it’s at the bottom of the forest valley, so there are no views to speak of. I also will note that my mosquito preparation was (today, anyway) unnecessary: I neither heard nor saw a single mosquito.

Not long before reaching Lawn Lake, there’s a junction with the Black Canyon Trail. You could theoretically get to the Cow Creek trailhead or Gem Lake or Twin Owls from here, but I’m not sure why anybody would want to. I haven’t hiked it, but I imagine it’s mile after mile of vista-free walking. But it exists, and appears to be both well-maintained and well-traveled. So somebody must find it useful.

Lawn Lake is the end of the pack trail. There are two hitching posts here, one for llamas, one for horses. From here to Crystal Lake, the trail is narrower and steeper. At times it goes right through small patches of willow where it resembles a game trail and will get you a wet boot if you’re not watching your step.

Just above Lawn Lake the trail rises above treeline and leaves the forest behind. I stopped here with the idea that I’d slather on some SPF. But the sun’s warmth was a bit feeble and the breeze was definitely not feeble so instead of sunscreen, I put on my jacket. Much of my hike so far had been in shade. It was well after nine before a single ray of sunlight hit my body. I was expecting things to warm up as the day progressed, but clearly that wasn’t in the cards this morning. I did put sunscreen on my face and hands, though, as the sun above 11,000′, while pleasant, is harsh.

To this point, I hadn’t seen any hikers (other than the group of four right at the start). There was a guy fishing at Lawn Lake and a hiker there sitting on a rock. While I was getting my jacket on, she passed me on her way to Crystal Lake.

Lawn Lake, with Longs Peak in the distance

There really wasn’t much snow along the way. In some shady spots around Lawn Lake there were a few drifts not much bigger than a few paces across. A bit more than half way up the slope there’s another trail junction, with a spur trail that takes you to The Saddle. I considered heading up this way, not to the top of the saddle, but far enough up to get a view of Crystal Lake from above. It was still fairly early, so I had plenty of time, but my pace had slowed considerably and the cool, stiff breeze was a deterrent. I continued to the lake.

Mummy Mountain towers over Lawn Lake

Not far after the junction I came to the only stretch of snow worth mentioning. Standing on the eastern edge and looking west, I couldn’t see the trail. Lucky for me, the gal who passed me had already crossed the snow and was working her way along the far edge. Scanning the terrain above her, I finally spotted the trail and so I made a direct line for it. I didn’t quite catch up to her, but I essentially wiped out the lead she had on me.

There are two lakes here, nearly side-by-side and differing by only three feet of elevation. The first one is Little Crystal Lake. It’s very scenic. Almost exactly as scenic, in fact, as its larger neighbor. But it is very much the “red-headed stepchild”; nobody seems to stop here to take in the view.

Little Crystal Lake and Fairchild Mountain

I caught up to the other hiker as we climbed onto the boulders that make up the shore of the lake. There we found a guy who was making an attempt at fishing. We sat on a rock about ten feet apart and chatted while we ate our lunches.

When I was last here, I had the place to myself. Today, at first it was three of us. I stayed about an hour and a half. While there, a group of four hikers arrived, then a solo hiker, then two more. On my way past Little Crystal Lake, another solo hiker arrived. Clearly, this place is more popular than I thought. Usually, if I’m going to a lake more than seven miles away there aren’t many (or any) other visitors.

Crystal Lake

Ironically, on the way up, from the Ypsilon trail junction to Lawn Lake I didn’t see anyone on the trails. And, likewise, on the way out it was the same thing. Usually, at any lake I visit where there are a dozen or so people, I’ll meet people on the trail who are headed to the same place, or have been there and are on their way back.

I didn’t see any big game, but the marmot population at Lawn Lake, Crystal Lake, and in between was impressive. They weren’t too shy, either. One perched himself on a pedestal-like rock and looked at me as if to say, “I’m ready for my portrait now!” Another made it’s home in a hole right next to the trail, only backing down out of sight when I got within a few feet.

Timetable

UpDown
Trailhead7:00 am4:08 pm
Ypsilon jct7:35 am3:33 pm
Black Canyon jct9:27 am1:50 pm
Lawn Lake9:45 am1:35 pm
Crystal Lake11:00 am12:30 pm

Onahu Creek

Monday, June 22

Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy. This time on “What Did I Forget?”: mosquito repellent and a map.

If I were to follow my usual naming convention, this one would be “Julian Lake FAIL” instead of “Onahu Creek”. It’s good to have goals, but just about any day in the Park is a good day, even if I don’t get to where I originally wanted to go. So for today’s hike, let’s just call it a reconnaissance instead of a fail.

The Foster guide tells us there are two routes to Julian Lake: one is via Timber Lake and the other is bushwhacking up Onahu Creek. The Timber Lake route would be a five-mile hike to Timber Lake and then basically go straight up 700′ and down 700′ in less than a mile. I’m not a big fan of descending steep slopes, so I figured the bushwhack route would be my best bet.

To get there this way, start at the Onahu Creek trailhead and hike about three miles to Onahu Bridge, which is where the trail crosses Onahu Creek for the second time. Then leave the trail to follow the creek. Near Julian Lake, there’s a confluence of the lake’s outlet stream with Onahu Creek. Follow the stream on the left and climb the last 500′ or so to reach the lake. Sounds simple, no?

I really only had two concerns. First, the lake sits above 11,000′ and it’s still June and there may be too much snow. But looking at the map/satellite/aerial photos it appears that the last few hundred feet of climbing are up a gully that has no trees and has southern exposure. I took the microspikes with me just in case. And, second, I might have to ford a stream if I can’t find a better way to cross. My bruised foot is still pretty tender. It’s not a problem at all with a shoe or boot on, but barefoot on stones in a stream might cause some real discomfort. I figured I’d “burn that bridge when I try to cross it”.

This is the second time I’ve been on this trail. The first time, I only went to the first crossing of Onahu Creek, then headed off-trail to Chickaree Lake.

The first bridge is about half way to the second, both in distance and in elevation gain. Immediately after crossing the first bridge, the trail climbs pretty steeply. It’s a pack trail. I’m pretty sure they have “building codes” for pack trails. All over the park I can find pack trails that climb as steeply as 400′ in a kilometer. I’m sure the code doesn’t mix units like that, but this is one of those 400’/kilometer climbs. After that, the trail levels off for the rest of the way to the second bridge.

My decision here was, do I go up the left side, or the right side? From my map study, I recalled that there are two streams that come in from the left and one from the right. But going up the right side, I’d have to cross Onahu Creek itself, so that’s two crossings either way. I picked the right side and dove into the forest.

Almost immediately I found myself in a maze of deadfall. No, “maze” doesn’t do it justice. There were a surprising number of downed trees, trunks in every direction, sometimes stacked three high. I soon came to a small trunk, only about ten feet long. The top half looked like it might make a nice walking stick, so I broke it in half. I broke it exactly where I intended, but the fatter (discard) half bounced up and clobbered me in the neck. As I said, sometimes I’m my own worst enemy.

After quite some time working through the deadfall forest, I found a game trail that looked promising, but it veered off in the wrong direction, so back into the thick of it, although it wasn’t nearly as bad as before. After a while, I came across a fairly well-traveled game trail. It was much easier going until it dumped me out on the border of what looked like a grassy meadow. It was a marsh. I managed to make my way across without getting wet feet, but I saw no game trail on the other side.

Back into the mess. My strategy was to keep the creek fairly near. Not necessarily always in sight, but always audible. In some of the steeper sections, the creek came down some nice cascades. The nasty deadfall wasn’t a constant thing, but was quite common. The worst of it was on the steeper slopes.

The mosquitoes were the worst I’ve ever dealt with. They weren’t big, the sort that would carry off small children. But there were millions of them. Swarms of them. I tried not to stop more often than necessary. It has been my experience that they’re worse in the woods than in the clearings, but not today. I stopped to take very few pictures and every time I stopped to take a sip of water, three or four would land on each arm while others would buzz my ears and go for the back of my neck. At one point there were three lined up on my arm, a few inches apart. I rubbed my hand up my arm, killed the mosquitoes and left three smears of my own blood.

I easily crossed the tributary that came in from the right and figured I didn’t have that far to go, perhaps another mile. The terrain became steep again, and I came across another nice cascade. At the top of this, I was once again standing on the edge of a swampy meadow. The creek flowed right through it, rather than beside it, so it meandered. The channel was narrow, deep, and swift. Narrow for the amount of water; too wide for me to vault it. In this meadow/marsh, it looked like there was a confluence here. I was expecting a steep grassy slope after the confluence, but there was a talus field over there. Perhaps I’m misremembering the map. But this looked like where I needed to cross Onahu Creek and follow the other stream to the lake.

The deceptive ox-bow

I found a crossing, then went about following the other stream. I had been faked out: it was a meander loop that was now cut off from the main stream. It made a loop to nowhere. It was now a bit after eleven. I hadn’t really stood still for two hours and I was hungry. I decided I’d find a flat rock in the talus, in the sun, and hope that the mosquitoes weren’t so bad. So that’s what I did. And the mosquitoes weren’t a problem at all.

It wasn’t as sunny as I was hoping, and it was a bit on the cool side. After sitting for a while, it was cool enough that I donned my rain jacket. It occurred to me that I could wear it on the hike back to the trail to help with the mosquitoes. I could even put the hood up to protect my neck and ears. I’d be hot and sweaty, but I figured that was a fair trade.

I relaxed for an hour. The view was not dramatic but pleasant. After I ate, I spent a few minutes looking at the terrain. My phone said I my elevation was 10,607′, and the lake is at about 11,100′. Is the lake above the gully to the left? It doesn’t look like what I was expecting from the aerial images. I thought about how disappointed I’d be to learn that I was really close but gave up.

The view up the canyon. The correct route is very near the right of the photo.

I was quite happy using the walking stick. Perhaps I need to rethink my attitude about using poles. One consideration is that I nearly walked away from my stick twice, once when I started back down, once right after my first stream crossing. I can easily see myself losing my poles.

On the way out I was a bit more successful following the game trails. I found myself on a section that I avoided on the way up, thinking I didn’t like the direction. It was a very easy trail, nearly a straight line with almost no deadfall. Whenever the game trail looked to be forking, I tried to pick the route that looked better traveled. Or had more elk poo!

Not exactly a cairn, but serves the same purpose

In the steeper parts, I lost the game trail but I always managed to get back to it. I had less success crossing the marshes. The only time I found the trail on the opposite side was crossing the last of them. This was the “heavily-traveled” game trail from the morning. But it turns out that it isn’t a game trail, it’s an unimproved park trail. If I’d have gone another 20 yards after crossing the bridge this morning, I’d have seen it and saved myself a bit of trouble.

Now back on the main trail, I tossed my walking stick into the underbrush and headed back to the car. This trail really doesn’t go anywhere, and it has a small parking lot, so I wasn’t expecting to see any other hikers. Very quickly, two groups of hikers passed me in the other direction, one group of four, the other of seven. Then I caught up to a group of eight heading my way. I was reluctant to pass them, as I was planning on refilling my water at the first bridge. I’d just have to pass them again.

But they saw me and stopped to let me by. I hustled down to the bridge and refilled my bottle. I’m not sure how long the UV light stays on, but it seems like ages. So the big group was going even slower than I thought, as I was back on my way before they showed up. Near the parking lot, I passed one more group, who were just hitting the trail. So that’s four groups totaling more than twenty people. In the parking lot, there was my car and two others. Seems to me there should have been more cars.

My last decision of the day was which way to return home. I decided that, even though it’ll take a bit longer, I’d go over Trail Ridge Road. I’m still curious about the timed entry passes being 60% of normal, so I wanted to see how bad the traffic was.

I was pleasantly surprised. The parking lot at the Alpine Visitors Center was less than half full. All the pulloffs between there and Rainbow Curve had empty spots. I never had a clear road in front of me, but we generally went the speed limit over that stretch. We caught slower traffic at Rainbow Curve, but it wasn’t as slow as I ordinarily see at that time of day.

Postscript

I have more than a dozen mosquito bites on each arm. One bite has another bite right on top of it. But it could have been worse: I could have been wearing shorts. I’m quite confident that wearing the jacket on the way out, although not exactly comfortable, was a wise decision.

It turns out I made it to within a mile of the lake. I had not much more than another hundred yards of forest to bushwhack through, then cross another marsh and finally climb to the lake. I’m thinking that if I try again, in August perhaps, when the ground will be drier, I should be able to make it. Hit the trail a few minutes earlier, follow the game trails better, and (of course) remember the mosquito repellent!

Knobs 8, 7, and 6

Wednesday, June 17

Ed and I arranged to meet at the Beaver Meadows visitor center at 7:30. Again, somehow, I managed to get there early. And instead of driving the rather generic SUV, I drove the car nobody can miss. While changing from my driving shoes to hiking boots I spied a white Toyota enter the parking lot. “Here comes Ed. And there goes Ed.” He somehow didn’t see me.

Today, instead of checking the timed entry passes right there by the BMVC, they simply did it at the entrance station. So, now, it clearly makes sense to have the express lane blocked off. There was no line to speak of at the entrance station, and there were plenty of open parking spaces at Bear Lake (although the Glacier Gorge lot was full, no surprise).

We lacked anything like a plan. After some back and forth, we decided to head up to the top of West Glacier Knob, which is #8 in Ed’s numbering scheme. We left the crowded trail at the usual spot and made our way to Ed’s preferred stream crossing spot. The water was a good six inches lower than it was a couple of weeks ago when we came this way. I declined to use the log to cross and instead took off my boots and waded across.

“Zone” Lake

Our first waypoint on the way is a little lake Ed has named “Zone” Lake. It’s not much of a body of water, but it has a really nice view for what I’d call a “forest” lake. It’s easy to get spoiled by the alpine lakes in the park, sitting immediately beneath dramatic granite faces. Forest lakes, on the other hand, typically are on the dull side, surrounded by view-obscuring trees. This one, though, has enough swampy land around it that the views of the Longs Peak complex, Thatchtop, and Otis are expansive.

“Joyce’s Pond”

From there we headed to another unnamed lake, “Joyce’s Pond”. Our walk so far didn’t require much effort. We’d done a little up and down, but here we were roughly the same elevation as we were when we left the trail from Bear Lake to Nymph Lake. It was now time to start climbing. In the next half mile or so, we gained a bit over 600′ to gain the summit of West Glacier Knob.

Mills Lake and Glacier Gorge from West Glacier Knob

It was still a bit early for lunch, and as might be expected up here, the wind was a bit gusty. After a short look around, we descended towards the southwest and made our way past our third unnamed lake: “Beautiful Lake Marv”. We were headed to another glacier knob and we nearly bypassed it by mistake.

“Beautiful Lake Marv”

Knob 7 features a nice view up Loch Vale. We could hear the distant roaring of Icy Brook as it falls steeply from The Loch, and we could see hikers crossing a field of snow on their way to or from the lake.

Knob 6 is very close to Knob 5, both hanging off the southeastern flank of Otis Peak. Knob 5 is a bit higher. While we were sitting on Knob 6 eating our lunches and relaxing, we discussed where to go next. Ed suggested bagging 5 at first, but I kept asking him for alternatives. We finally decided that, when it was time to go, we’d descend along a ridge that extended to the northeast. Going this way, we could visit three more knobs (all minor and not featuring in Ed’s numbering scheme). I thought that was a splendid choice.

We sat on Knob 6 for quite a while, taking in the views. I had the GoPro with me, but there still wasn’t a cloud in the sky near us. Far to the east, over the plains, were some high, thin, boring clouds, and a few very small clouds that looked to be created by the turbulence of winds blowing over Longs Peak. Nothing worth setting up the camera for.

The wind is a near-constant feature up on top of these knobs. Clear evidence of this is demonstrated by the trees. I was fascinated by one that had seen so much wind that it had grown in a corkscrew shape. I’m also constantly amazed at the tenacity with which these trees grow. They’ll start in the faintest of cracks in the rock and grow to an impressive size, given that there’s no soil to speak of, no nutrients and no place for water to pool. Very harsh conditions, but life is stubborn, and finds a way.

Another thing that fascinates me when hiking in this area is the amount of wood lying about that was burned in the Bear Lake Fire of 1900. At “Zone” Lake, there’s a tree stump that was chewed up by beavers before it caught fire. The teeth marks were burned, meaning the beaver downed the tree sometime before 1900. Even on the tops of these knobs, we see burned wood. One hundred and twenty years of wind and blowing snow, cold, harsh high-altitude sun bleaching the wood, but the evidence persists.

Lichen and char

We probably sat up there for an hour. A quite pleasant hour. We had a bit of a false start when we left. Ed couldn’t find his poles. We thought he might have set them down on a big slab a bit below the summit but we couldn’t find them. We kept searching and before long decided they must be up on the top so he went back to re-search. He found them, neatly camouflaged in the shadow.

Our departure restarted, we went down the slope, circling below the outcropping we lounged on and worked to the spine of the ridge. We pretty quickly came to two small knobs, echoes of the larger one we sat on up above. No need to circle down these knobs, we could just walk down the face of them. Much of the spine of this ridge was huge slabs of solid granite stretching a couple of hundred yards. I don’t like going down these slabs if they’re too steep; we had to be cautious in places, but it was pretty easy walking.

This ridge ends with a giant cliff that is visible from the unimproved park trail from Haiyaha to Glacier Gorge Junction. We arrived at the top of it by walking down the gently sloping slabs. Ed pointed down to a little ledge and suggested we take in the view. I stayed well away from the precipice, but it got my heart going a bit.

We had to backtrack a few yards to find ramps off the ledge. It was a bit steep for a while, but it wasn’t long before we came to the trail. We wanted to be discreet about coming out of the woods, but some hikers were approaching. They got about as close to us as they could without leaving the trail and stopped for a break. We didn’t want to wait, so we elected to forego discretion and stomped out of the woods a few yards from their resting spot. A few yards up the trail we stood at the base of the big cliff and spotted the ledge we stood on.

Our last adventure was recrossing Tyndall Creek. Ed said he knew a spot that was wider and shallower and easier to ford than where we crossed this morning. So we both waded. Why not? I was looking forward to cooling my feet in the cold water. Ed’s spot was well chosen. Wide and not much more than ankle deep except for a narrow channel in the middle that was maybe a foot deep, and swift.

I was taking my time, checking my footing with each step. Just before reaching the deep channel I thought I had my left foot nicely placed, but as soon as I lifted my right foot, the rocks under my left foot shifted. I nearly lost my balance. I didn’t notice until this morning when I got out of bed, but I bruised my foot pretty good. It’s slightly swollen, a bit discolored, and quite tender.

The paved super-highway trail from Nymph was quite crowded. Maybe I’m just sensitive about being around people these days and therefore I’m thinking it’s more crowded than it actually is. But it seems to me that there is more than 60% of average traffic. The parking lot wasn’t full, but the line for the shuttle bus was as long as I’ve ever seen it. There was no line to get in at the entrance station, but it was about five, so quite late. I didn’t count, but I’d say roughly half the cars in the Bear Lake lot were out of state while all but two in the Glacier Gorge lot had Colorado plates.

The weather was beautiful; not too hot, not a cloud in the sky, mostly calm. We had a nice walk in the woods and took in some views that relatively few people see. We stayed off the beaten path. It was a good day.

Half Mountain Knob

Saturday, June 13

I heard on the news a day or two ago that the timed entry passes for this weekend had sold out. I bought mine about a week ago, when there were still more than a hundred available. So, in theory, the Park would be operating at 60% of capacity. Shouldn’t be too crowed then, eh?

This is my first time using the pass, so I was curious how they were going to do it. They have a couple of rangers (one of whom was armed) posted on the road right by the entrance to the Beaver Meadows visitors center. They can check two cars at a time that way, and direct those lacking passes to turn around in the parking lot. At the entrance station, the express lane is closed. I’m a bit surprised at that, as using the express lane is contactless.

We got to the Bear Lake parking lot a bit before 8:00. The Glacier Gorge lot was full, and we got one of the last half-dozen or so spots at Bear Lake. While I was changing into my boots I saw a shuttle bus with two passengers, so I’m guessing there weren’t too many cars at the park and ride. Walking from the car I tried to get an idea how many visitors were from out of state. I didn’t count, but it looked to be about a third, which surprised me.

We didn’t decide where to go until we got there. Plan A was Black Lake, Plan B was the glacier knob by Half Mountain, which is #10 in Ed’s nomenclature. I told Chad we’d need the microspikes to visit Black Lake. He suggested we skip the spikes, so we went to Half Mountain knob. That was fine by me; there was little chance of finding solitude at Black Lake but nobody would go where we were going.

I’m not sure we ran into any other hikers between Bear Lake and the Fire Trail. If we did see any, it was just a few by the junction to the Glacier Gorge lot. On the Fire Trail we did see two hikers. There were a few more people between Glacier Gorge junction and Mills Lake. It took us almost exactly an hour to get to Mills.

From there we worked our way uphill, headed more or less toward the little saddle about forty feet below the top. It was pretty easy going and we made the summit in about twenty minutes. When we got there, it was absolutely calm. Chad made the mistake of remarking on this and moments after I pointed out one of the wind-twisted trees, the calm was over with a big gust.

Andrews Glacier in the distance.

We found a spot out of the wind with a view up Glacier Gorge. We sat up there for quite a while. There weren’t any clouds at first, but some high wispy ones developed. They didn’t particularly appeal to me, so I didn’t bother setting up the camera for a time lapse. After a short while, another hiker did show up; he told us he didn’t expect to see anybody up here. We empathized.

Glacier Gorge with Mills Lake and Jewell Lake partly obscured.

After lazing about the summit for a good stretch, we headed down the hill. About two-thirds of the way down, we found ourselves on a rock outcropping with a view, so we took another break. One of the nice things about short hikes is that you never need to be in a hurry. We discussed our options for the return trip: we could go back the way we came, or take the main trail and stop at Alberta Falls. I’m not sure Chad has been to Alberta Falls, so that’s what we decided to do.

But, after reaching the trail, we fairly quickly decided to forego the main trail. We found we couldn’t hike three hundred yards without having to step off the trail to let somebody by. It wasn’t just solo hikers or pairs, but lots of groups of four or five or six. Knowing that there’d also be traffic to and from the Loch, it was a no-brainer to go back down the Fire Trail. I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but these days I’d really rather not get within breathing distance of so many people. It was a good choice; we saw only one solo hiker on the Fire Trail.

From when we got back on the main trail until we got to the car, we were back on the “superhighway” and among the crowd. We got back to the car at about two. The parking lot wasn’t nearly as full this morning, perhaps two-thirds full.

It was a good thing I asked Chad this morning to remind me to stop at the backcountry office to pick up my permit for next month because I’d already forgotten. The parking lot at the backcountry office was full, but the Lotus is small enough I took a half spot on the end. There was a cone there, so I probably wasn’t supposed to park there, but so it goes.

You don’t walk into the office now, which makes sense. It’s pretty small inside and both workers and visitors would be constantly in close proximity. Instead, they blocked off the stairs and installed plexiglass on all the exterior windows. There’s literally a paper-thin gap at the bottom to pass paper through. I at first waited in a line by the first window. It was taking quite a while so I wandered around the corner and found two more windows and got served with little wait. I came for my July 12/13/14 permit, but due to COVID, they issued all three of mine so I wouldn’t need to go back.

Leaving the backcountry office, we got back on the road. There was a fair amount of traffic and I had to wait for a few cars to go by before I could get going. I’d not have been able to make a left turn here to go back to the park: the line of cars stretched from the checkpoint at the Beaver Meadows entrance down the hill to the junction with Hwy 66. This is 60% capacity?

Seeing so many cars lined up, I decided to drive through the village. I never go through downtown in the summer, but I couldn’t resist. The place was hopping. I didn’t see any empty parking spaces on the street, and I glanced only a couple of empty spots in the parking lots we passed. The sidewalks were crowded. There were enough pedestrians that they had police directing traffic. Most of the benches on the sidewalks were occupied, the shops looked crowded. Not everybody wore masks, and the usual (rather high) percentage of those with masks didn’t have them covering their noses.

Traffic on 36 was only slightly lighter than a normal summer weekend. We could go the speed limit until Pinewood Springs, where we caught a big line of cars.

My next permit is for a weekday. I’m wondering if the crowds will be any less.

Shakedown Cruises

It’s easy to think that work on the car is done, now that it’s running. But we still have a couple of things to look at.

We have a little oil leak somewhere. There’s a bleeder valve near the oil filter; we had a bit of a drip there when the engine was running, but we think we have it tightened down now.

Even so, we still had a (very small) puddle of oil underneath the car the next morning. (We have the car all put together except for the undertray. That way, any leaks won’t be hidden from us.) We mopped up the puddle and let her sit for another day and no more oil appeared.

So it was time for more than a run around the block. Last Sunday I thought I’d head up Boulder Canyon to the Peak-to-peak highway and come back down Coal Creek Canyon.

When I pulled into Boulder, I’m guessing I saw the local Nissan NSX club out for a drive. I saw three of them, along with a Ferrari and one or two others that looked to be in the group. Just before the start of Boulder canyon they have a big sign up: Critical Traffic Only. It’s not critical that I go that way, so I decided to head up Left Hand Canyon instead.

I’ve never been up that road before. I’m always up for a bit of adventure. It’s a very nice road through a pleasantly verdant valley. There were lots of bicyclists out, but the shoulders are quite wide, at least for a few miles on the eastern end. Things get a bit narrower around Johnstown, though. But my big surprise was seeing the “Pavement Ends” sign a bit past Johnstown. I figured it would only be a couple of miles, so I continued.

The road was nice and wide but it hadn’t been graded in a while. It was quite the washboard road. I’ve taken the car on dirt roads many times before, and don’t have a problem as long as I take it nice and slow. But on the washboard I lost traction when I went slow. Even on the dirt road there were bicyclists, many of whom gave me somewhat quizzical looks: What kind of maniac drives his low-slung sports car on this kind of road? I happily arrived at the highway after ten or fifteen minutes.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. The weather was gorgeous. I applied my sunscreen a bit poorly and got a little burned, but not that big of a deal.

I’ll note that passing through Nederland, it seemed like everybody and his brother was out. The sidewalks and shops were packed, and not that many people were wearing facemasks. The number of COVID cases we’ve seen in the state has gotten pretty small, so I’m thinking most folks feel free to be out and about. I don’t think we’re in the clear yet, so I’ll continue to be more cautious.

Today I went hiking. Another fine opportunity to get the car out for a little run. It’s about 70 miles each way to the Bear Lake parking lot, so I’d do about double last week’s canyon run. On the way up, traffic wasn’t too bad and when I got to the three-lane portion between Lyons and Pinewood Springs I was able to open her up a bit and get on the high cam. It felt good; gave me a big smile.

When I pulled in to my parking place at Bear Lake, the check engine light was illuminated. I have an app on the phone that lets me check the code and reset it. It told me I have a P1301: cylinder 1 misfire. She sounded good, no misfire that I could notice. Michael suggested perhaps it was due to old gas, but I filled it up the other day. There were still a few gallons of gas from October, but most of it is new. I cleared the code.

On the way back home there was quite a bit more traffic and the whole way from Estes to Lyons I basically coasted. a Camaro in front of the car in front of us rode his brakes all the way down the hill from Pinewood Springs. We could smell his brakes before we got to the bottom of the hill.

I didn’t get a chance to put my foot into it until after Lyons. I ran the RPMs up in third but instead of the high cam, I got the rev limiter. This was most unexpected and very disappointing. I tried two more times, but could not find joy. She was well warmed up, having been nearly an hour on the road. Temperature gauge read 191. The check engine light never came back on. I don’t know what is wrong.

The good news is, it appears we have no more oil leak. The car has been parked for five hours, no fluids on the floor under the car and dipstick oil level looks good.

I have a box full of stuff that didn’t get put back on the car. I need to weigh it and post a picture here.

Edventure in Chaos

Wednesday, June 3

I reached out to Ed the other day and suggested a walk in the Park on the last day before timed entry permits are required. He thought it was a great idea, so we agreed to meet at Beaver Meadows at 7:30am.

For once, I actually made it to the rendezvous point before he did. I parked at the top of the parking lot. A few minutes later, I spied a white sedan turning into the parking lot. “Here comes Ed,” I said to myself. He drove right by. “And there goes Ed.” He parked, got out of his car, and ran walked quickly to the bathroom. With his urgent matter resolved, he found me and we headed into the Park.

I was sort of expecting that there’d be a fair number of visitors to the Park. There was only one car in line in front of us in the express lane and only a couple of cars that needed to pay. At the Bear Lake parking lot there were only a few dozen cars. I’m thinking I’ve seen more cars there in the past at 4am. I should have looked at the license plates. I’m guessing most everybody was local. This is the third most visited Park in the system. Can it be possible that, even restricting visitors to 60% or normal, I’ll have no difficulty spending my usual amount of time there?

Ed and I arrived here without a plan, so the first topic of discussion was, “Where are we going to go?” We quickly decided that either East Glacier Knob or West Glacier Knob would be the way to go. I had a set of microspikes with me. “Ed, should I take my microspikes?” He shook his head: “You won’t need them.” And off we went.

We abandoned the trail at the usual spot and arrived at the stream in no time. Ed found the log he uses as a bridge, but the stream was running unusually high, and the crossing looked pretty sketchy. So we wandered upstream a bit and made a crossing of Tyndall Creek a bit above its confluence with Chaos Creek.We took a short break here to deploy the Deet. The mosquitoes were out for blood!

We worked our way back to Chaos Creek, still with the idea we’d head to our chosen destination. After a few minutes heading upstream looking for a crossing, we scotched Plan A and developed Plan B: climb up the hill beside Chaos Cascades. Ed had pointed that route out to me earlier when they first came into sight. There was quite a bit of snow on the south (left) side of the stream but the right side looked clear. “It is a bit steep,” he said.

Climbing the cascades

We stopped a couple times to take in the view. Ed talked about a rockfall that occurred sometime perhaps a century ago. A large boulder crashed down the cascades, ultimately coming to rest on top of some burnt logs. So he know it was some time after the Bear Lake fire of 1900. It looks to have hit a number of substantial logs, splintering them in unusual ways.

Not long after reaching the top of the cascades, we made a bit of a circle to gain the top of one of the many glacial knobs in the area. Ed has numbered them 1 through 10. We went and sat on to of Knob 3. If I’m counting correctly, this would be the fifth one Ed has taken me to.

Knob 3 panorama

Being mostly granite, they don’t have many trees on their “summits”, so they all have nice, open views of the surrounding terrain. And those views are all different, but not that different. All have commanding views of the lowlands to the east: Bierstadt Moraine, Sprague Lake, and points east. This one features a clear view of Chaos Canyon, Hallett Peak, Otis Peak, Thatchtop, and, of course, Longs Peak.

Spot the hikers

You can also see parts of the park trail from Dream Lake to Lake Haiyaha. There’s an overlook on that trail. We spotted a couple of hikers taking a break there on a large boulder. That indicated to me that the trail from Dream Lake was passable. I’ve been on it when there was lots of snow. On that occasion, I had to abandon the trail to avoid the not quite sheer drops. I really don’t like traversing steep snow, particularly when it’s atop a two hundred foot drop.

After a short break, we continued on to Lake Haiyaha. By now we were mostly hiking across snow. It was fairly dense and we seldom postholed. (If I’d had my microspikes, I’d have put them on, but it wasn’t a big deal that I didn’t have them.) Somewhere in here, we came across a bit of fecal matter on the snow. Ed suggested perhaps it was cat poo. There weren’t any footprints; this poo may as well have come from the heavens. I will leave it to the feces experts to determine exactly what beast left it.

Who left this?

When we got to the crossing of the outlet stream, Ed realized he’d abandoned his sunglasses on the knob. He headed back to fetch them while I stayed by the bridges. Before long, he was back and we continued to the lake.

We didn’t achieve the lake, though. When the trail reaches a little pond we could see how high the water was. Ed managed to make it at least half way past here, but without poles (which I never carry) I knew I’d end up getting wet up to my knees so I played the “I’m a wienie” card and refused to go any farther. So we found a place there to have our lunches.

After a few minutes, the two hikers we’d spotted earlier were making their way back from the lake. He hopped from rock to rock without difficulty but had to coax her and eventually give her an assist. They told us the view was worth the effort. Perhaps if I’d never been there, I’d have put a bit more effort into it.

While we sat there, it started sprinkling a couple of times, with a bit of graupel thrown in for good measure. It never really started to rain, but the breeze picked up a bit and things started to look a bit threatening. For about two minutes. Having eaten and rested, we decided it was time to head back. “Which way should we go?” I asked. When we were thinking we’d do West Glacial Knob, we’d decided to exit along the fire trail. But that now seemed a bit out of the way. So Ed replied, “Let’s take the Park trail to Dream Lake. Hopefully there are no big snowdrifts” Knowing that the other hikers came that way, I agreed.

At about the easternmost part of the trail, where the hiker has a nice open view to the east, because it’s on a large slab of granite that falls steeply, and there are no trees, we encounter our first drift. It’s sketchy. My heart kicks up a notch. One slip here and you’re done for. I wasn’t feeling panicked, but I sure wished I’d brought my microspikes. After what seemed like a short eternity I had my boots on dry trail again and I felt quite a bit better. This was the place I was most worried about.

We caught up to the other hikers when we came to another drift. Again, we need to traverse the slope. It’s not as precarious a drop, but steeper, with a long drop to my right. There are some trees here, but I’m not sure I’d call it an improvement. We have to go maybe thirty feet, and about halfway or a bit past, we climb slightly to where the drift is broken by the bulging granite face towering above us. Underneath this overhang, the drift is shaped like a knife. At the very end, to put boots on the trail again, you must take a couple of large steps straight down.

This isn’t sketchy, it’s treacherous.

When we caught them, the woman was about halfway through her traverse. He had gone ahead of her and was calling out instructions. He told us he’d tried a lower route, but it wasn’t as good. I watched where Ed was placing his feet. He had the advantage of poles, but he was taking his time. I followed about ten feet behind him. I kept jamming the fingers of my left hand in the snow as an aid to balance and being very careful of my footing. I was happy to reach the knife-edge, where I could put most of my left arm around something.

Safely through this ordeal, Ed turns to me and says, “That was the one I was worried about.” He wins. That one was much worse.

We had a few more to deal with, but nothing as harrowing as either of the first two.

At Dream Lake, I asked Ed who had the bright idea to go that way.

We made it back to the car at about two. I can’t remember the last time I was at the Bear Lake parking lot in June at two and it wasn’t at least 90% full. Now, it might have been at 60%. (And I think most of those people were between Dream Lake and Bear Lake.)

All in all, a glorious and invigorating day. But, yeah, it was a bit of a mistake not to take the microspikes.

She’s a Runner!

My long sort-of nightmare is coming to an end.

That’s a bit dramatic, I guess. That my car has been in pieces in the garage since October isn’t really a nightmare, even “sort-of”. It has been a source of nervous tension, though. Now, nervous tension has finally come to an end, replaced by a bit of excitement.

Sunday we filled her with fluids. Our big concern was bleeding the coolant system. Michael brought home some equipment but we lacked the proper fittings to connect it to the car. He’s used to working on somewhat larger gear.

In the end, it wasn’t a big deal. We jacked the back of the car up and started filling. We worked some air out of the hoses and let gravity do the work, topping off the reservoir as needed. After a while it wasn’t taking any more fluid so we attempted to start it.

It turned over almost immediately. We ran it only for a few seconds at first, then gave it a good visual inspection for anything unexpected. A few minutes later we let her idle for a while to warm up. When we shut her down, we topped off the coolant again.

Yesterday we took her out for a quick trip around the block. We strapped the battery down and mounted up the cameras. Once she was warmed up, we let her roll. I was joking that I’d probably stall it, not knowing what to expect with the new light-weight flywheel. Frankly, I couldn’t tell any difference at all. Granted, all I did was go around the block, so it wasn’t much of a test, but I’m happy I won’t have to make any adjustments and it doesn’t seem to have hurt the streetability.

I was a bit of a bad boy, but I felt it necessary to get on the high cam. This is the first test of the motor, after all. It was a bit cheeky, on my residential street, but it wasn’t too bad. She feels good and sounds good.

I’ll be curious to get her back on the scales. Along with the lighter flywheel, we did (most of) the air-conditioning delete. We removed the compressor and fitted a picked up a shorter belt that fit perfectly. I intend to remove the condenser when we ever get around to removing the front clam. I’ve also started a radio delete: just the rear speakers so far. I never use the radio, and if I take out the radio I can get a “radio replacement pocket” that I can use as a mini-glove box.

We’ll run it up to temp a few more times this week and next weekend put her back together again. We’ll need to take the exhaust back off to fit the heat shield, and I think the only part we haven’t put back on yet is the windshield washer reservoir.

Cub Lake

Thursday, May 28

Starting June 4, to visit Rocky Mountain National Park, you’ll need a Timed Entry pass. Last night, I visited the Recreation.gov website to scope it out. I couldn’t actually do anything, as these reservations weren’t available until this morning, but it looked promising. Each reservation costs two dollars and you can use any of the various park passes to cover your entry to the park. As I have a pass that is good through June, I should have no problems!

When the appointed time came, I logged on to the system and tried to buy a pass. I was presented with a list of choices, including a reservation to be used in conjunction with my annual pass. I selected this and continued. I was soon asked for my name and the number of my pass. I entered the number, but it told me it was invalid. I played around with it for a little while, trying different things. I could have bought a reservation and a one day pass for $27 ($2 for the reservation, $25 for the day pass). But I certainly didn’t want to pay 27 bucks a pop for a hike.

I decided the most expeditious course of action was to go up to the Park and buy a new annual pass. So that’s what I did.

I arrived at the entrance station at about eleven. The day was nice, a bit cool, mostly cloudy over the divide, not very breezy. They used to hand you a clipboard so you could sign your new card and the credit card receipt. Now they just hand you the card and receipt and tell you to be sure to sign the card when you get home.

Having arrived so late, I couldn’t hike very far. And I think, for the most part, I’m going to avoid the Bear Lake area as much as possible. I’d been talking to my brother about hiking to Cub Lake and as it was fresh on my mind, that’s where I headed. This is one of those hikes that’s short enough and popular enough that I’d be expected to have hiked it several times. But I’m thinking I’ve hiked it exactly once.

The small parking lot right at the trailhead was full, so I went up the road another two-tenths of a mile to the larger lot where the bathrooms are.

The Cub Lake trail is separated from the Fern Lake trail (and the road that leads to that trailhead) by a ridge that runs east and west. The first thing to do then, is head south around the eastern end of this ridge before turning west. The trail runs along the base of this ridge, on solid ground. The flats here are occupied by a series of ponds surrounded by grassy marshes.

This whole area was ravaged by the Fern Lake fire in 2012. The damage to Moraine Park was minimal. It’s an open, grassy lea with no trees. There are some bushes that grow 12-15 feet high; these were burned but are now growing back. As you make your way past the ponds and marshes, you begin to see burned forest. Many of the aspen seem to have recovered nicely, but the pine forest takes quite a bit longer to return.

Cub Lake used to be a fairly typical forest lake: a pleasant place to visit, but because of the trees, no great view. Now, to even get from the trail to the shore you must navigate a maze of deadfall. The slope above the opposite shore is fully burned, with just a few trees right beside the water surviving.

I was expecting to see quite a few hikers, but I enjoyed a surprising solitude. I spent an hour sitting by the lake, listening to the birds, and watching a particularly brave ground squirrel that was quite interested in the contents of my pack.

I did see quite a few more hikers on my way out. I’m not wearing a face mask when I hike, with my intention to step well off the trail when I encounter other people. A good number of hikers had bandanas around their necks that they’d pull up over their mouths and noses as I approached. But it was fairly easy to avoid being in close contact with people, so I wasn’t concerned about the general lack of masks.

Any day in the Park is a good day. I bought my new pass, spent a few hours in nature, and was able to relax a bit. So it was a good day.

When I returned home, the first thing I did was try to buy some Timed Entry passes. I quickly arrived on the screen where I was challenged for my pass number. I typed it in, double checking it, and was informed that the number was invalid. WTF?

Very frustrated now, I deleted it and retyped it. Generally, a web page won’t show you any errors until you press Enter. This one updated the error message for the pass number field as each character was typed. When I typed slowly, I saw it go from “invalid” to “valid” before I’d typed the entire number. So it didn’t want to see the last few digits. Nowhere on the page does it inform the user that the whole number isn’t necessary. It may be that my old pass was working, had I thought to cut a few digits off the end.

Having passed that hurdle, I managed to purchase two passes. I was after a handful of them, though. I did try to purchase a third one, but it wouldn’t let me. It didn’t say I had reached any limit, it just failed to cooperate any longer. No worries, I got two good days in June. In a day or two, I’ll sign back on and see if I can get a couple more.

Nearly There

Michael has been putting a few hours into the car. We’re He’s very nearly done with it. The big milestone today is getting all four wheels on the ground for the first time since… November? December?

Perhaps next weekend we’ll get it running.

Six Benchmark

It has been more than two months since I last posted anything. That’s by far the longest I’ve gone without an update. I started this blog as a sort of replacement for my personal journal. I occasionally write things that I don’t publish to the public, but it’s rare. Perhaps in these two months I should have made a private entry or two, but instead, I’ve been totally silent, even to myself. (I can almost hear the objections: “Dave loves the sound of his own voice too much to be quiet.”)

Although I don’t limit myself here, I’m generally writing about my two passions: hiking and my car. The short version is, for two months nothing has happened in those realms.

But other things have happened. The COVID 19 pandemic, for example. Early on, my family and I were largely unaffected by it. I work from home, so on a personal level, it was pretty much the status quo for me. I couldn’t get a haircut, and RMNP was closed in March, but it wasn’t a huge adjustment. The libraries closed, but Genae’s paychecks kept coming, and diesel mechanics are considered essential, so Michael was still working.

In mid April, my employers held a national meeting over Zoom to give us an update on the business. We were told that there would be adjustments. Training was cancelled. Travel was cancelled. Temporary and contract employees were let go. But there would be no need for layoffs any time soon. In the days after that meeting, I was told that there was plenty of work in the pipeline and that I’d soon be lead consultant on a project Real Soon Now.

Then, on May 1 (International Workers’ Day, for those paying attention), I got a call from my boss. I have been concerned for quite some time about my being chronically underutilized. It seemed to me there is a limit as to how long an underutilized asset could be kept. The corona virus put its thumb on the scale, so to speak, and in spite of the recent “dreaded vote of confidence” I was let go.

The last time I was out of work, I could hop in the fun car, drive up a twisty canyon road to a trailhead in the Park and take a nice, long hike. I really feel that getting out on the trails did a lot for my mental health. I could clear my mind, envelop myself in nature, breathe the clean pine-scented air and enjoy myself.

But, as I said, the Park is been closed. And the car is still in pieces in the garage. Michael has been enlisting the aid of his friends to do my engine replacement and with the COVID lockdown, the car has been on hold. I think I have all the parts and supplies required, so the loss of my job shouldn’t be an impediment, and now that there is some loosening of restrictions, Michael will have the assistance he wants. So, although the car hasn’t moved since October, there is hope that it’ll be running by June.

As to the problem of the Park being closed, there’s not much I can do.

But, for my mental health, I needed to take a hike. So I reached out to Ed and asked if he was interested in taking me up to the top of Button Rock Mountain. He took me up there back in 2012. I had to look it up. I was pretty sure it was before the 2013 floods, but that seems like a long time ago now. Anyway, he agreed and we picked a day.

Tuesday, May 12

The morning wasn’t exactly foggy, but the ceiling was quite low and the weather didn’t look at all promising. Forecast high for Denver was in the mid-60s, and the sun was supposed to shine, but that looked far from certain at 7:30am.

I only vaguely remember where the trailhead is, so we arranged that we’d meet at Ed’s place and both drive. Just a few miles out of Lyons we emerged out from under the blanket of clouds and found ourselves in bright sunshine and blue sky. Things were looking better already.

Button Rock Mountain is situated about two and a half miles west of US 36 where that road leaves Boulder County, at the top of the hill just outside of Pinewood Springs. To get to the trailhead, however, you proceed past Pinewood Springs to county road 47, the road to Big Elk Meadows. Follow this about 2.6 miles to a small dirt parking lot on the south side of the road.

Wild Basin and Longs Peak

This is national forest, and there’s a fairly large network of established trails. Ed, though, is not one for established trails. He and his friends have been working for decades on his route to the summit of Button Rock, or more accurately, a point on the map called “Six Benchmark”. The actual summit is about half a mile away. Six Benchmark has a nice view to the west: Indian Peaks, Longs Peak, Twin Sisters, and the Mummy Range. To the south is Button Rock reservoir. Six Benchmark is about 8400′ of elevation while the true summit is a few feet higher, at 8,440′ or so.

Ed is proud of his route, and rightly so. In my mind, it doesn’t qualify as a trail. Some parts of it are fairly obvious to me when I’m on it. And in a few places, someone bushwacking cross country would recognize it as a trail, but for the most part, it is much less obvious than your basic game trail. I’ve hiked it twice now (granted, seven years apart) but there’s no way I could follow it unaided.

As we hiked, Ed kept up a more or less continuous effort at grooming the trail: flicking pine cones out of the way, occasionally picking up a rock here to deposit there, that sort of small thing.

I’m sure I was less than the ideal hiking companion. My mind wasn’t exactly clear. Ed kept up a running monologue, in places describing the effort he and his friends put into clearing fallen trees and moving large rocks. But I will admit that I wasn’t always paying attention, and no doubt I occasionally failed to respond to his questions.

We hit the summit a bit after 11:00. To the east, the clouds we drove out from under were still blanketed across the landscape, with some tendrils of mist lying in the canyons. I set the GoPro facing that way, rather than over the Divide. We relaxed on the summit for well over an hour and a half and by the time we departed, the clouds below us to the east had almost entirely dissipated.

It was good for me to get out and hike, even if it didn’t serve to fully get my head in a good place. I’m aching to get back into the Park, to visit the alpine lakes I love so much.

And here’s the video. Everything is too far away for the GoPro, and the clouds that cast shadows on the camera cause an annoying strobe effect, but so it goes.