Way back when, all the new TV shows would be broadcast in the fall, and when summer rolled around, nothing new was ever on – it was all reruns. In the world of television, summer reruns aren’t a thing anymore. My compulsion to hike to lakes I’ve not been to before is as strong as ever, but sometimes convenience is a stronger factor.

June 10 – Forest Lakes – Picnic with Bullwinkle

For years, my traditional first hike of the year was Emerald Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park. Familiarity breeds contempt, and while I don’t feel contempt for Emerald Lake, the appeal has lessened somewhat. The last handful of years, I’ve been starting my hiking season with a trip to Forest Lakes in James Peak Wilderness. The lower Forest Lake, specifically.

I wasn’t going to write anything about this trip. It’s a rather run-of-the-mill forest hike with no grand vistas (or vistas of any kind, really), and the views from the shores of the lakes are not exactly spectacular. I keep doing this hike in late May or early June because, due to the snow, it’s a different hike every time. But, generally not noteworthy.

This year, we had a very dry winter with the mountain snowpack much reduced from normal. And I was doing this hike a week or two later than normal. Still, I was surprised that I didn’t encounter any snow at all on the trail. That made it easy to find a spot for my picnic. I found a nice slab of rock near the outlet. Because the area around the outlet is fairly marshy, I was on a bit of a peninsula.

I was there about 45 minutes and had had enough. I’d have been happy to sit there for an extended time, but it was a bit breezy, so when I finished my lunch, I packed up to leave. That’s when Bullwinkle showed up. He looked at me, and we acknowledged each other’s existence, me on my rock, him standing a few feet from the dry ground I wanted to make my exit over. So I waited.

He munched on the grass and flowers. He scratched himself. He ate some more. He scratched some more. Occasionally, he’d give me a look. Then he’d go back to eating. I watched him eat his salad for 45 minutes, by which time he was far enough from my path of egress that I was willing to go around him. Moose are unpredictable. And moose eat constantly. I don’t think I’ve seen a moose that wasn’t eating.

June 21 – Neva Lakes – Thieving Marmot

For Father’s Day, I was invited to go take a hike. No, not with my loving family. Just me. I’m okay with that.

I decided to venture to Neva Lakes. I was there a couple of years ago, late in the season, in October. It’s a fun hike, with a nice stretch of it off-trail through a valley of winding streams, ponds, and thinly scattered trees. The lakes lie a bit below 12,000′, beneath the Continental Divide in Indian Peaks Wilderness. Being that it’s still June, even though the snowpack is less than normal, I figured I’d encounter some snow.

I reckon I made it to within about a quarter mile of the lower lake before I stopped. I faced a steep climb over snow, into a stiff breeze. I knew the lake would be icebound and the wind would only be worse, not better. It wouldn’t be a very comfortable picnic spot, so I stopped where I was: a small, unnamed pond in a bowl that was somewhat protected from the wind with a nice view of the mountainside below Lake Dorothy.

At one point, I was eating my sandwich and set my beer on a rock. Then I spotted a marmot. I wasn’t sure he had seen me, despite my wearing my red jacket. He clambered down some rocks to a patch of snow. He crossed that, then started coming straight in my direction. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, which caused him to panic a bit and run for cover. He has certainly seen me now.

A few seconds later, he was over his shyness and back on a path straight toward me. Usually, marmots are quite shy. They’re not like the ground squirrels that have no manners and aren’t above digging through an unwatched pack. Generally, if I get within 20 feet of a marmot, it’ll go for cover.

This one, though, was on a mission. I just didn’t know what it was. Here’s where I made a small, incorrect decision: I had my phone out to take pictures of the little guy. I should have been recording a video.

His mission was to steal my beer. I had no idea marmots liked beer, or would even have any concept of how to make off with a can of beer should they come across one. I stood there, dumbly, as he snuck up on my beer. At first, I thought he was just curious and wanted to sniff it. Before I knew it, he clamped his teeth on the top rim of the can, picked it up, turned around and started away. He gave me a bit of side-eye, and I think he may have thought he was invisible. I hollered at him and took a couple of steps toward him before he dropped it, spilling about a third of what was left in the can.

He didn’t run off very far after that. Perhaps he was hoping I had a second beer and was more willing to share it. He sat on a rock, splooting, trying to look cute or something, unbothered by my harangue about low-down, beer-theiving, no-good rodents.