Category Archives: Recreation

Lake Haiyaha

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April 8, 2017

I don’t hike to very many places during the winter. Lake Haiyaha is one I’d like to visit more, but I can’t seem to figure out the route on my own. I used the summer route once, but I didn’t like it and won’t go that way again. So, until I get it figured out, I need navigational assistance. Thus far, that means I have Ed show me the way. This time, it was with a group of internet friends who get together once a year for just this purpose.

I went with the group a couple of years ago. It wasn’t the same group, really, but a different subset of the group. This time I got to meet for the first time a few of the folks I’ve known for a while online.

I find Haiyaha to be one of the more interesting lakes in the area during winter. The water level for all the lakes is reduced compared to summer, but the difference between summer and winter is greater here than any of the other lakes I visit, measured in feet rather than inches.

It was windy at the lake, as is expected this time of year, so we didn’t spend much time there. I set up the camera and we retreated back down the trail a bit for a sheltered picnic spot. When done eating, everybody started back down the trail. I went back to get the camera and caught up to them. I had to backtrack again. I wanted a sip of water and found that I had dropped my water bottle somewhere along the way, so I had to go back up the hill a way to find it.

The route isn’t well-traveled like most of the other places I go in winter. I don’t really care for snow shoes and on my other winter hikes I can get along just fine with microspikes instead. I asked Ed beforehand if spikes would be sufficient but he recommended the snow shoes. I was thinking it was bad advice until we were on the way back. In the morning, spikes would have worked just fine but with the sun beating down on the snow all day conditions got a bit different and I was glad I listened to Ed’s sage advice.

After the hike, Brent and I chatted over beers at the brew pub. The rest of the gang, plus others, got together for pizza later. Unfortunately, I felt the better use of my time was to go home and finish my taxes. Sometimes, adulting is hard.

 

Two Rivers Lake

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Sunday, March 19

I talked Chad into hiking with me. Somehow, two weeks in a row. Last week we took the short hike to Emerald Lake. It snowed the whole time. I don’t know if it technically qualifies as a blizzard, but it was snowing and the wind was blowing. I told him it was some of the most dramatic scenery around. But we couldn’t see any of it.

After many months without hiking, followed by an unsatisfactory hike, I felt I had to do it again. So I asked Chad if he wanted to do another hike, a little longer this time, and hopefully better weather. He didn’t accept right away. Perhaps he finally agreed in spite of his better judgement.

It was a beautiful day, with a forecast high in Denver of over 80. One of the great things about hiking in the Park is that you can get away from the summer heat. It’s only March and it’s a bit distressing that I’m already looking to escape the heat. A March hike along the divide is one way to do it.

Before we hit the trail I warned Chad to be careful whose footsteps he follows. We’d be crossing a couple of open spaces where the footprints get blown away and the “beaten path” might be hard to find. And we need to stay on the beaten path because we’re wearing micro spikes rather than snowshoes. If we get off the path we could be postholing.

When we got to the first of these open areas we met a group of four hikers heading back to Bear Lake. They’d built an igloo and camped nearby. We didn’t find it until we were on the way back; must have walked right by it somehow. It was a big one – sleeps four!

We found ourselves on a fairly well-traveled path, but as we got closer to the lake I began to dislike it. We were following tracks that seemed to take a more difficult route than was necessary. We were climbing too far up Joe Mills Mountain for my taste. Before long we met another couple of hikers on their way back. These two said they visit Lake Helene quite often in the summer, even climbing up the canyon above it to a small unnamed pond beneath Notchtop.

Last year when I hiked here, everybody I ran into thought Two Rivers Lake was Odessa Lake. These two, who have visited here often in summer, told us that Helene was real close and that we’d already passed Two Rivers. They were wrong. What they thought was Helene was actually Two Rivers. It’s funny how a little snow can change the terrain.

Once at the lake, we found a spot out of the wind and settled down for a picnic. Actually, it was more standing around than settling down as all the snow-free rocks that would make nice seats were in the teeth of the strong wind. We opted for shelter in the trees, where there were no good places to sit. We stayed nearly an hour.

We followed a different set of footprints on the way back. On one of the steeper open slopes we spotted below us the route we followed in the morning. Then we managed to get off the tracks we were now following. I decided we were too high up the hillside and the tracks we really wanted to follow were below us. So I headed off into virgin snow.

I knew our morning route was below us but we were descending a bit more than I wanted to, so I decided to contour along the slope. With these warm, bright days and cold nights the snow was pretty crusty. Had to tread carefully, though, as I was often on the verge of breaking that crust and stepping crotch deep into the snow. A few minutes later we came across the beaten path again.

This morning when I told Chad he’d have to be careful whose footsteps he followed, I’m pretty sure he didn’t think I was warning him about me.

Shadow Mountain Tower

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Sunday, October 16

Over beers last week I asked Chad if he wanted to go hiking. He agreed, and picked me up Sunday morning at seven.

The trail to the lookout tower starts at the East Shore Trailhead. This is my first hike from here. The trailhead is sited on the isthmus between Grand Lake and Shadow Mountain Lake. There is parking there for fifteen or twenty cars, bear-proof trash cans but no facilities.

We put boots on the trail at 9:30. I should say I put boots on the trail. Chad was wearing trainers. He was concerned they wouldn’t be adequate. I summitted Quandary in sneakers once and my feet were sore the next day. The trails on the west side of the park tend to have fewer rocks and roots than the east side, particularly at lower elevations. I figured he’d be okay.

The weather was pretty good. Denver’s forecast was for 80, sunny, and breezy so I figured 65 and windy at Grand Lake, so maybe 60 and windy at the tower. We passed through a cold inversion layer near Winter Park, upper thirties, but it was closer to fifty when we started. Skies clear but for some small, high, thin ones to the west. And it was windy. I wouldn’t say winds were fierce, but they were high and sustained. I was happy we’d be in the forest all day.

The first mile and a half of the hike is along the north-eastern shore of Shadow Mountain Lake. In a couple of places the trail is inches from the water. These spots were washed by breaking whitecaps today. The forest is mature – almost exclusively lodge pole pine, heavily beetle-killed. The tops of the trees were swaying through arcs of twelve or fifteen feet. We could hear them collide, making a sound like clapping two bowling balls together.

We made pretty good time to the trail junction, covering the 1.4 miles in half an hour. To get to the tower we take a left. The trail climbs to the top of a ridge. The forest on the eastern slope is younger. Mature trees are widely spaced and there is an abundance of smaller trees. I’m guessing a fire went through here half a century ago or so.

2016-10-16-12-01-54sThe tower isn’t on the summit of Shadow Mountain; it’s about a half mile to the west. It’s a stone tower with wooden stairs that wrap around it, leading to an observation deck. The building was built in 1932 and is in the National Register of Historic Places. The Foster guide says the observation deck “provides panoramic views of Shadow Mountain Lake, Grand Lake, and Lake Granby.” This is no longer true. Signs prohibit climbing the stairs due to structural concerns – rotted wood. A plastic ribbon hangs from the banister, no longer barring the way. I really wanted to go up to the deck but I was a good boy. Didn’t make it past the second step.

After our picnic break, we started back shortly after noon. The hike back was unremarkable, for the most part. Until we got back to the section along the lake shore. Dead trees cover forest floors everywhere, to some degree or another. On the Ypsilon Lake trail there’s a section where deadfall is like pick-up sticks. Not quite that bad here, but there are a lot of downed trees. And a lot of the standing trees are dead. I’m generally not concerned about falling trees. Certainly they fall all the time, but it’s a fairly infrequent event.

Of course, the trees don’t so much fall as get pushed over. We heard a lot of creaking wood as we walked down the trail. One dead tree right on the trail was leaning on a neighbor, splitting open at the base of the trunk. You could hear the wood complain as the wind worked on it. A bit later on we heard a crack and a short crash. I didn’t see it, but evidently one tree snapped and fell into the limbs of a neighbor. The crash would have had to be a few seconds longer had it fallen to the ground.

2016-10-16-13-28-49_stitch_resizeWe made it back to the car at two. Some sources say the hike is 4.8 miles each way. Foster has this at 5.4. My Fitbit recorded 22,761 steps for the round trip, so the Foster numbers look correct. With only a fifteen hundred foot net elevation gain it’s a fairly easy hike.

Chad survived without too much difficulty, although he said he wouldn’t have wanted to hike any farther in those shoes.

All in all, just another beautiful walk in the park.

Beyond Lost, Day 2

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Sunday, September 11

I was awoken from a deep sleep by the wind. A gust came down on the tent, hitting it like a drum: boom! It was 12:30. The wind certainly didn’t die down at sunset. Listening to music, waiting for the stars to appear, I found a rock someone had placed next to a tree. It made a nice seat. Leaning up against the tree resulted in a rocking motion, the tree swaying considerably in the wind. The wind had mellowed a bit by the time I climbed into the tent but now there was nothing mellow about it.

From 12:30 to 6:30 I didn’t get much sleep. The tent only drummed once more but the wind gusted and raged the rest of the night. At 6:30 I heard an odd noise. Sounded like a snort. At first I thought it was an odd noise for the tent to make in the wind. But it sure sounded like a snort. A few minutes later I heard a couple more snorts, farther away now. Elk, perhaps? I didn’t hurry and by the time I got out of the tent there were no critters in sight.

I had breakfast and took down the tent and packed everything but the bear vault into the pack. When I was done I stepped through the trees to the lake and met one of the guys in the big group. Yesterday, four or five of them went up the canyon all the way to Rowe Glacier, then summitted Mount Dunraven. Sounds like a great day to me. I told him I wanted to go as far as Scotch. He recommended taking the ramp I spotted yesterday.

While we’re talking he points to the marshy area I crossed to climb the hill. “There’s a moose.” He went off to get his long lens. I grabbed some water and started off the way I went yesterday. The moose had disappeared now, but I was heading that way so I kept on the lookout for him. Never did spot him again.

I retraced yesterdays route to the tundra slope south of Husted. The wind hadn’t died down much. At sunrise the sky was clear but as the morning progressed a wave cloud formed just to the east, putting the area in shadow.

I needed to get to the other side of the valley and it wasn’t clear to me which way to go. It’s a wet marshy area with a couple of ponds, lots of willow, lots of flowing water. I started working my way across, got in an area of long grass. Near a wildlife trail the grass was matted where a couple of elk may have bedded down.

In a particularly spongy area I had stopped and was looking for a good way to go. I saw some movement on the ground out of the corner of my eye. I wouldn’t have seen it if it had just stayed still but it took another hop away and I saw it. The frog was three or four inches long, matched the color of the muck pretty well. He was gone in a few seconds. First frog I’ve ever seen in the Park.

Ultimately I got stymied in here. I tried a couple of different routes with no luck. The clouds were getting bigger, the wind wasn’t getting better, I decided to abort. There’s obviously a way across, I just need to take another look at it. This is a pretty cool place and I have an excuse to come back again. So it goes.

I headed back toward Husted. I decided to go circumnavigate it. The southern shore of the lake is mostly tundra. The peninsula is big rock slabs. The northern shore is more talus. Standing at the outlet you have a nice view of Gibraltar, ‘Middle No Name’, and ‘Little No Name’.

I made two round trips up the slope between Husted and Lost. I passed a jawbone all four times. About eighty feet downhill and across the stream from it is an antler fragment, two points off a bigger rack. Likely the same animal.

2016-09-10-15-09-54sI was back to the camp by 9:30 and on the trail by 9:36. I immediately ran into another one of the guys from the other camp. He was off to look for Lost Falls. I’m pretty sure there’s a camp site there, but I believe it’s closed. I didn’t see any signs for the falls or the site and neither did he.

We chatted a bit as we walked. He told me they were “llama supported.” They hired an outfitter out of Estes who packed their gear in by llama and will return to fetch it tomorrow. They’re all carrying their day hiking gear instead of big backpacks. They hiked all the lakes and a few of the summits. And perhaps find Lost Falls. I wished him a good day and at that he was off, running.

A few minutes later I caught up to four more from that group. Two couples, one of each who had to work tomorrow so they’re on their way out. The first guy I met was here. I last saw him as he ran off to get his telephoto lens. He asked, “Did you see that moose move through your camp?” It was there when he got back with his lens. I was on my way up the hill by then. So this would be the second time a moose was in my camp and I didn’t see him. It was a moose that snorted outside my tent, not an elk.

We passed each other a few times as the day wore on. Next I met two young women headed to the lake. I gave them the scouting report and my map. After exiting the Park I started seeing more people. I was too early yesterday to see the day trippers, but they were in peak rush today.

Before now I haven’t given llamas much thought. There’s that sign on the campground shortcut to Thunder Lake: “No Livestock – Llamas excepted”. Llamas can carry something like eighty pounds. That means probably three llamas did a round trip on this trail Friday. Llamas are pretty low-impact pack animals. I saw absolutely no sign of the llamas except for one thing. I’ve been seeing llama shit on trails for years and never realized what it was.

 

Beyond Lost, Day 1

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Saturday, September 10

I’m a hiker, not a backpacker. I’m working on changing that. On my Laguna Seca trip I spent five nights camping to see if I could deal with sleeping on the ground. I passed that test. Now it’s time to carry all my gear up a trail. A few weeks ago I made the rounds and borrowed a tent from John and a backpack from Jerry. I made my reservations that night. I snagged a spot at Lost Lake, 9.7 miles up the North Fork trail from the Dunraven trailhead.

I suppose I was under-prepared for the trip. I only assembled the tent once. I did one test pack of the backpack. I fiddled around with the backpack a bit but was never happy with the fit. But I get points for not forgetting to take everything I needed. When I did my first test pack (no food or water) the pack weighed in at 20.5 pounds. Final pack was 31 pounds but I tossed in the iPod and headphones before locking the car.

Denver’s forecast for the weekend was low-80’s on Saturday, upper-80’s Sunday, clear and dry. I figured it would be different at 10,700′ and was anticipating clear skies, high winds, and near freezing temps by morning. My sleeping bag is quite old and I don’t know how well it handles the cold so I made sure to have plenty of layers.

I’ve never hiked in this part of the Park. The trailhead is in the Comanche Peaks Wilderness of the Roosevelt National Forest, a few miles from Drake. Drake was more or less erased by the floods three years and a day ago. I haven’t been through here since then. The road is better than ever, billiard table smooth. The dirt road to the trailhead is very good also.

As I said, the trail starts in NFS land. The first section of the trail drops down a gully to the river. The flood damage here doesn’t seem so bad, three years later. It’s obvious how big the river was at full flow – there is nothing but rocks and sand for several feet on each side of the river. Weeds haven’t even taken over. I saw only two man-made pieces of debris. The trail was washed out in a few places and has been moved or rebuilt robustly.

After a short stroll along the riverbank the trail crosses private property – Camp Cheley. Stables, corrals, a rodeo ground. Just before returning to NFS land there are concrete bridge abutments without a bridge. Not long after leaving Camp Cheley we leave the riverbank and work our way upslope. By the time we return to the river there is no sign that any flood occurred.

Most of the hike offers nothing to look at. The trail goes through mixed forest and has no outstanding views. No views at all, really, until nearly at your destination. Although the trail climbs steadily, I was feeling pretty good that I hadn’t come across one of those four hundred foot climbs in a kilometer. I didn’t get on the trail until a bit after eight and wasn’t keeping my usual pace. I hoped to have camp set up by two and figured to picnic well before getting that far.

There’s a campsite called Halfway. I had assumed the obvious, that it’s half way from the trailhead to the lake, a little over five miles. This is incorrect. It’s not half the distance, it’s half the climb. It’s closer to six miles. So from here to the lake will be, on average, about half again as steep as we’ve been doing.

Not far past Halfway the trail returns to the stream. I found a pleasant spot for a break. I was happy to shed the backpack for an extended time. I had been taking more breaks than normal, but all quite short. It felt good to take an extended rest. As it turns out, I took my break right at the bottom of a long, steep (by pack trail standards) section. It wasn’t quite as steep as four hundred feet in a kilometer, but it was more like two kilometers than one. And the trail, although well maintained, is more like the campground shortcut to Thunder Lake than the trail to Nokoni – no shortage of roots and rocks to step over. On this stretch my legs really felt the thirty extra pounds.

I’m going to Lost Lake, but everything in the area is Lost. There’s also Lost Falls. I didn’t find Lost Falls, but I wasn’t really trying. There’s a campsite called Happily Lost. And after the steep section of trail, after the trail crosses a rock outcropping and gives us our first view, the sight of miles of forested valley below us, behind us, we arrive at Lost Meadows. Now we finally catch a glimpse of the mountains ahead. Just a glimpse – the bare hulk of Mount Dunraven.

By now I’ve been hiking five and a half hours. I’ve run in to six people. At the trailhead there were only a few cars; all still had dew on them so I was the first arrival of the morning. As I was stepping onto the trail, a truck pulling a horse trailer arrived. It was two women riders, who passed me just after Camp Cheley. I asked them how far they were going. They said they didn’t know: as far as they could go. They were happy to see the trail finally open.

I met the occupants of both the Lower Lost Lake sites on their way out. First was two guys, my age, perhaps a few years older. They told me the Upper Lost Lake sites were taken by a big group (“They had llamas. A big Coleman stove, everything but the kitchen sink”). Of the two Lower sites they felt they had the best one, #1. The next couple, French accents, had stayed at #2. They said the wind wasn’t that bad, that it had mostly died down after sunset.

When I got to the lake I went to the Upper sites to see if the big group was still there. They were, although nobody was home. Two large tents were erected on one site and the Coleman stove sat on a table in the other. Their bear canister was off the trail below the camp. Their setup struck me as a pretty good one: a bedroom and a kitchen. No sign of any llamas, though.

On my side of the lake I headed to site #1 and dropped the pack there. Then I walked back to #2 to check it out. I preferred #1 as it had a view of the lake. This was probably not the best choice. The other site was farther back in the trees; I only had a few trees between me and open water.

2016-09-10-16-28-02sLost Lake, like Lawn Lake, Pear Lake, Sandbeach Lake, and others, used to be bigger. It was dammed in 1911 and reclaimed in 1985. It’s the lowest of a string of six lakes forming the headwaters of the North Fork of the Big Thompson River. Sugarloaf Mountain is a miles long wall on the north, Icefield Pass is at the western end. A side canyon runs south, ‘Little’ No Name, ‘Middle’ No Name and Gibraltar Mountain making up the western wall. Mount Dunraven is south of Lost Lake and also forms the eastern wall of the side canyon. Up this canyon are Lake Dunraven, ‘Whiskey’ Lake, and ‘Scotch’ Lake.

I might be tempted to say Lake Louise is the side canyon, as it’s much shorter. But the canyon where Lake Dunraven sits hangs about four hundred feet above Lake Louise’s outlet stream. There are a couple of unnamed ponds where the two streams find confluence. If you continue past ‘Scotch’ you end up at the foot of Rowe Glacier, a bit over 13,000′.

I had camp set up shortly before three, nearly an hour off my estimate. No worries; that still leaves me plenty of time. The goal for the afternoon is to visit both Lake Husted and Lake Louise. The trail ends here at Lost Lake. The Foster guide says to go up the hill from the other camp but it looked easier on my side. It’s a bit marshy near the lake. The water flowing from the top of the hill makes no obvious course here; it is distributed across a wide area making the whole area spongy.

The slope is easily climbed. Near the top, continuing to follow the small stream leads to thick willow; it’s easier to pass through a narrow strip of sparse trees to the left, south. Then it’s around a rock outcropping before emerging onto gently sloping tundra. The view here is spectacular. Lake Husted is now to my right, one more hump to cross. It’s a fairly substantial lake, shaped like an open cartoon mouth: the uvula hanging from west to east. Lake Louise, which is farther up the canyon, is actually slightly downhill from here.

I spent a bit of time studying the other side of the valley, looking for the best route to Lake Dunraven. Foster suggests bushwhacking up the stream, working through thick willow. It looks to me, though, that there is a nice wide ramp a bit to the east. This will take you slightly above the lake but looks to be pretty easy. I will go that way tomorrow. I headed over to Lake Louise. I didn’t stay for long as the wind was picking up. Back at Husted I went to the end of the peninsula before retracing my footsteps back to camp.

I had dinner and listened to some music as the sun set. Here, though, it doesn’t really set. It falls behind the mountain well before sunset. We’re in shadow a long time before it gets dark. The sky is still bright and cloudless. Passing jetliners are brightly lit and look like comets. The air is so dry their contrails evaporate in a few degrees of arc.

The moon is fairly bright; no Milky Way for me tonight.

Pettingell Lake fail

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Sunday, September 4

Last year, crossing back over the ridge that separates Lake Nokoni from Lake Nanita, I saw what looked to be a fairly well-defined trail crossing the ridge between Lake Nokoni and Pettingell Lake. Having successfully done the 22.2 mile round trip to Nanita and knowing that Pettingell is the same distance, it seemed like I should be able to bag Pettingell.

The weather forecast for Denver predicted a high of 91 with mostly sunny skies and only a slight chance of rain. I probably should have checked the forecast for Grand Lake. Between Granby and Grand Lake the road was wet. I might have thought it had rained in the pre-dawn hours but there was so much standing water it would probably be more accurate to say the rain had just stopped falling. But the rain had stopped, and that’s what counts.

I planned for a 7:30 start, which means leaving the house at 5:30. I was pretty much on schedule, putting boots on the trail at 7:37. Two guys started hiking while I was changing my shoes and I caught them shortly before the first campsite at Summerland. They looked to be traveling oddly light, carrying only a plastic bag containing a couple of rolls of toilet paper. I chatted briefly with them. They spent the night in camp there but managed to forget one important item, thus their early morning trip. They were visiting from Mississippi and had just spent the first of several nights in the park. I expected to see them later in the day as they said they’d be heading to Nanita.

Not long after leaving them at their camp I saw some moose tracks on the trail. I always expect to see moose in these parts but tracks are all I saw. There were these fresh tracks on the trail, still very distinct so I guessed they were put down after the rain stopped. Just moments after seeing these tracks it started raining. Just sprinkles at first, but before long I had to don my rain jacket.

It rained for two hours. It wasn’t a hard rain but enough to cause rivulets of water to run down the trail. Rain drops would hang on the brim of my hat, dance back and forth with my gait for a few steps, then fall to my feet. The rain pattered softly on my hoodie while occasional larger drops falling from the trees made louder plops.

As the morning wore on, I passed several groups of backpackers making their way out. The weather wasn’t exactly conducive to stopping and talking, so we just exchanged greetings. I did ask most of them where they were hiking from; all were in camps along the North Inlet.

It stopped raining after I passed Ptarmigan Creek. About here the trail finally starts gaining some elevation. The first six or seven miles are pretty flat, passing through some wider sections of U-shaped valley where the river meanders in big loops and the occasional pond lies near the trail. After Ptarmigan Creek the trail starts working its way up the side of the valley.

I arrived at the trail junction as quickly as I made it last year. I make a right turn to head to Nokoni whereas most traffic goes on the trail to the left, towards Flattop and Bear Lake. One of these days I’ll have to arrange logistics such that I can hike from Bear Lake to Grand Lake. It’s well over twenty miles, but I no longer have any doubt I’m capable of it.

The roughly two and a half miles of trail from North Inlet Falls to Lake Nokoni is quite the feat of trail making. Last year I didn’t pay particular attention to the trail itself. I took in the views and was always concerned with my progress. More relaxed this time, I couldn’t help but notice how the trail facilitates quick travel.

This is a pack trail, so it is constructed according to whatever codes apply – minimum width, maximum grade, and so on. But the thing that stands out on this section is the absolute absence roots, rocks, and stairs that interfere with your gait. And although I’ve seen many pack trails that have sections that climb four hundred feet in a kilometer, this trail has no steep parts.

But what amazes me about this trail is that it does all this while traversing some incredibly steep terrain. In the mile below Lake Nokoni there are several sections where the trail is literally carved out of the rock. Words and pictures don’t do it justice. These two and a half miles are perhaps the easiest two and a half miles of hiking in the entire park. That, in conjunction with the relative lack of incline on the first six or seven miles make this ten miles of trail easier than many trails half the distance.

I had no sooner stood on the rock shelf along the east side of Lake Nokoni than I heard somebody coming up the trail behind me. It was a solo hiker, a trail runner, and the only person I encountered all day who was older than me. He started where I did, at about eight. His pace was only a couple of minutes per mile faster than mine which was quite the ego boost for me: I’d covered the ten miles in 3:47, or about 2.6 miles per hour.

Now I confess that I forgot to bring a map. I wasn’t concerned, though, because as I said, I saw the trail last year. All I needed to do was find the trail and I’d be on my way. I figured I couldn’t miss it if I just started working my way up the slope. So that’s what I did. The slop turned out to be a bit steeper than I anticipated. I did eventually find a trail of sorts. But it’s loose gravel and I wasn’t happy using it. My footing was much better without the trail. And it’s not really a trail – it fades into nothingness on both ends.

Without a map I was expecting to be able to see the lake when I topped the ridge. So I was a bit disappointed that my target wasn’t in sight. I decided that it must be farther to my left and that I’d need to cross a talus slope. By now it was noon, which is my “bingo” time. I want to be at my destination, or in sight of my destination, by noon. No lake in sight, so I pondered my options.

I could continue, expecting to arrive at the lake within another half hour. That’s not so bad, but it puts my return to the car an hour behind schedule. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still threatening. The only blue sky I could see was a thin ribbon along the divide. The “mostly sunny” forecast looked to be true, if you were east of the divide. Here, it looked like it might rain again. Finally, I’d managed to keep my feet mostly dry until I headed off trail. Once I was walking through grass my pants were wet below the knee and my feet were thoroughly wet. And today I wore my hiking shoes, not the boots. With the boots my feet probably would have stayed dry. And I’d certainly be happier in boots when crossing this talus field. (New rule: wear the boots if the hike goes off trail.)

So I decided to turn around.

No big deal. I can get to Pettingell if I decide I like camping. Or, if I hit the trail at 7:00 instead of 7:40. And wearing boots and carrying a map. (It looks like I didn’t need to cross the talus field after all. That would have been the hard way.)

I cautiously worked my way down the slope back to Nokoni, where I selected a large flat boulder to sit on and eat my lunch. By now the clouds had broken up a little bit, providing alternating sunshine and shadow. I took off my shoes and socks, wrung out the socks, and set them on the rock to dry. But the sunshine was fleeting and a breeze kicked up and my socks never had a chance to dry out. I wasn’t looking forward to hiking ten miles with wet feet.

The weather did clear up quite a bit. Back in the valley, once I got below the lake, I was in sunshine again. The clouds were just hanging around the peaks. About half way back to North Inlet Falls I was finally able to take off my rain jacket for the first time in five hours.

Upper North Inlet valley

Upper North Inlet valley

On the way out I took a couple of short breaks. The Upper North Inlet valley is one of the remotest areas in the park and the steep terrain below Nokoni means the view is often unobstructed by trees. I paused several times to take in this view. I also took a short break at Big Pool to eat some fruit. I was back to the car shortly after five. I was happy to put on dry shoes and socks and surprised that the wet-footed hike out wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable.

Timetable

Up Down
Trailhead 07:37 AM 05:11 PM
Cascade Falls 08:40 AM 04:02 PM
Big Pool 09:09 AM 02:41 PM
Ptarmigan Creek 09:51 AM 02:20 PM
Lake Nokoni 11:24 AM 01:01 PM

Shelf Lake, Solitude Lake

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Saturday, July 27

I killed Victor.

We hiked to Shelf Lake and Solitude Lake. I don’t know why I have so much trouble finding where we leave the Black Lake trail. When I hiked to Blue Lake this spring I looked for the spot and missed it. I missed it again this time. We went a bit too far up the trail. We headed across a marshy meadow and made an easy crossing of Glacier Creek and headed upslope.

I heard water to our right and knew we needed to be on the other side of the stream so we worked our way over, passing through some nasty deadfall at one point. When I saw the stream, I also saw the trail and knew we were finally in the right place. I don’t think Victor was much of a fan of our little bushwhacking expedition.

We had just started a kilometer section of trail that climbs eight hundred feet. And it’s not really a trail and there are a few places where you need to use your hands. Earlier in the day Victor had joked about not wanting to do the Bataan Death March and here I am leading him off-trail and then up just about the most grueling kilometer of hiking I could have picked.

Here we ran into some other hikers. Two young guys came up behind us and passed us like we were standing still. We may have been standing still. Closer to the top we chatted with a couple coming down. They’d been up there since Thursday, said they’d had a couple cold nights.

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Shelf Lake

Above the trees it was quite blustery. The sun was shining brightly but it was cool, and the wind was cold. We had lunch at Solitude, trying to take shelter on the lee side of a boulder along the water’s edge. We needed a bigger boulder.

Even though I didn’t expect we’d want to sit there very long, I attempted to set up the GoPro for a time lapse. There wasn’t much cloud action but you never know how things will turn out. In this case, not at all. I couldn’t get the camera to work in multi-shot mode. It kept emitting a series of beeps, showing a message that said “camera busy.” So no time lapse.

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Solitude Lake

By the time we got back to the trailhead, Victor could hardly walk. He may never want to hike with me again, but at least he had a memorable day 🙂

Cony Lake

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Sunday, August 14

Cony Lake sits on a bench 11,512′ above sea level, surrounded by Mount Copeland, Ogalalla Peak, and Elk Tooth. It also sits on the southern boundary of RMNP. To get there, you must first get to Pear Lake, which is six or seven miles from the trailhead (depending on where you start). At Pear Lake, follow the trail by the hitchrack. This trail passes a small pond where it crosses the park boundary.

Lower and Middle Hutcheson Lakes are in Roosevelt National Forest. The faint trail leads to the lower lake before heading uphill on the northern bank of Cony Creek. The trail gets fainter and eventually disappears. Route finding from here to Upper Hutcheson can be difficult over terrain of rock benches, grassy ramps, and bands of dense willow and krummholz.

This is the fourth year in a row I’ve set off for Cony Lake. It doesn’t bother me to fall short when hiking in the Park. I’ve almost never had a bad day hiking. Each of the other times I tried Cony were memorable. The first time I had to stop at Pear Lake but got to watch clouds roll in just feet off the surface of the water. The second time I saw a bear sitting on the trail in front of me. Last year I watched an eagle catch a fish.

I started from the Allenspark trailhead rather than the Finch Lake trailhead. It saves a little distance and elevation. I wanted to drive the Chrysler because the parking lot is not Lotus friendly but it was in the shop. It was drive the Lotus or stay home, and I wasn’t about to stay home. There are two entrances to the parking lot at the trailhead. The first one features several large craters but the second is not so bad. I was able to get in and out without scraping.

The weather was ideal. Clear, cloudless sky, a brilliant blue all morning and only a slight breeze, even above treeline.

Over the last few days I’ve spent some time visualizing the hike, mainly the approach to Upper Hutcheson. I saw myself working my way uphill without getting into the willows. I could see the ramp you descend to cross the creek right below the lake. Last year I made it as far as the inlet to Upper Hutcheson and was stymied there. I had stayed along the shore and intended to ascend alongside the creek. It’s not a good route. This time I’d start climbing almost as soon as I got on the other side of the lake, traverse the slope to above the obstructions.

Just as I saw it in my mind, I made my way up without getting stuck in the willows. I crossed the stream right at the outlet of Upper Hutcheson. This is easy to do this time of year when the water level is down somewhat. It’s probably not a good route in July. There’s a nice grassy ramp right down to the water, a few stepping stones and you’re across. I made it the rest of the way without hitting any willow. Instead, it was a lot of rock hopping. Perhaps an excessive amount of rock hopping; I was certainly tired of it by the time I was done with it.

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My approximate route (drawn on a 2015 photo)

I spent an hour at the lake. I was happy with my pace all the way up. I put boots on the trail at 7:30 and dropped my pack on a rock at the lake at 12:15. It took me fifteen minutes longer going back down, but that includes a stop to refill the water bottle. I didn’t get back to the car until after six, the latest finish I can recall.

The lake is bigger than I was expecting. I sat on a giant rectangular boulder the size of a bedroom, got the GoPro running and tucked into my lunch. There were no squirrels in this boulder field, and there were no birds. A few mosquitoes buzzed me and a few flies were somehow attracted to the camera. It was quite calm, which is unusual along the divide. Some clouds were attempting to cross but were never more than incipient. They got more energetic shortly after I left Cony, some white puffs drifted over Elk Tooth, diffusing the shadows and taking the edge of the bright sunshine.

Coming down from below Upper Hutcheson I ended up in a maze of krummholz and willow. I found myself in a few of the same spots I was in last year, or the year before. I went one way, back tracked, tried another. And another, and another. Eventually I dove through a particularly nasty clump of krummholz and from then on was in the clear, but I’m disappointed I wasn’t able to retrace my steps.

I’m wearing my hiking shoes, not the boots. On the way up I hit my right ankle on a rock, tore a flap of skin. This was situated right above the shoe and when I little toe was uphill of my big toe, that flap rubbed on the shoe. About half my steps when rock hopping had my foot situated that way. By the time I was back on the trail my ankle had gone from irritating to annoyingly painful.

I was surprised at how few people I encountered. On the way up, I exchanged hellos with a group of three and a group of five. I had a brief chat with a fellow from Luxembourg. He hiked Mt. Idea a couple weeks ago, then camped in the Grand Tetons. Then it was the Badlands and a stop in Nebraska before returning to RMNP. His plan today was to lunch in Estes, then drive to the Great Sand Dunes. A pretty cool trip. I met him just below Pear a few minutes before ten.

I didn’t see another person until I was nearly back to Finch, almost six and a half hours later. I’m usually the one asking people where they’re headed, or where they’ve been. Today, though, I was the one being surveyed. After passing Finch Lake, I saw only six people. One young guy coming the other way asked “Finch or Pear?” I told him “Cony.” He hadn’t even slowed down to ask the question, but my answer stopped him in his tracks. “Way to go, buddy!” It was deja vu just after the big trail junction. A guy passing me asked “Finch or Pear?” “Cony.” “Wow”.

It’s been my habit to say something along the lines of “I felt great when I got back to the car.” That would be a fib today. I was pretty fatigued and the ankle didn’t help. It’s not the longest hike I’ve done, or the biggest climb. But I’d say it’s one of the most difficult. It’s a long hike to Pear, then miles of no trail and challenging route finding.

Timetable

Up Down
Trailhead 07:30 AM 06:10 PM
Trail Jct 08:10 AM 05:26 PM
Finch Lake 09:05 AM 04:26 PM
Pear Lake 10:05 AM 03:20 PM
Lower Hutcheson 10:40 AM 02:50 PM
Middle Hutcheson 11:00 AM 02:35 PM
Upper Hutcheson 11:25 AM 02:10 PM
Cony Lake 12:15 PM 01:10 PM

Laguna Seca Trip: Day 5 – Lassen Volcanic National Park

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Wednesday, July 13

I awoke about 5:30 but didn’t want to get out of the warm bag. By 6:15, rising was mandatory. The campground was quite still, no one was moving, no one was making any noise. My breakfast is in the bear box, and I was never able to open it without quite a clang so I was an early noisemaker. I had my usual camp breakfast, an apple and protein bar. Then off to hike.

I started with Kings Creek Falls. The guys I talked to last night said I could get there from the South part of our camp or I could take the easy way from the Kings Creek Falls trailhead. I elected for the easy way. It’s marked as 1.4 miles each way. Before starting, I was going to take a picture of the map at the trailhead. Figures, the SLR isn’t working today.

The trail descends from the road. Early on there are signs of recent trail maintenance. Then we get to a broad meadow. There’s a nice view of Lassen Peak from here, when you’re on the return trip. After a half mile there’s junction. Proceed down the cascade section of the trail or take the longer, less steep horse route. But there’s no choice – the cascade section is closed for trail maintenance. Two tenths of a mile from the falls there’s another junction, this one to Bench Lake.

At the falls they’ve built a viewing platform. I poked around a bit, looked at it from the platform and from creekside, but there wasn’t much there to hold my attention. I headed back to the last junction and took the trail to Bench Lake. It was a nice walk, but the lake is more of a puddle, snow fed, with no inlet or outlet stream. It’s surrounded by trees and lacks a view. It also lacks an comfy place to sit and relax, so it was back to the car. Nearly back to the trailhead the work crew, five guys, passed me heading to work. When I first arrived at the trailhead, there was only one other car parked here. Now it’s starting to get crowded – several cars there, with corresponding groups of people heading down to the falls. I reckon this hike to be 4.8 miles total.

Next was Cold Boiling Lake. The guys last night said I shouldn’t bother. I went anyway. First, it’s not like I had a full day of hiking planned. Second, the Bumpass Hell trail is closed. That was definitely on the list but has to be scrubbed. There’s a trail from Cold Boiling Lake to Bumpass Hell. I wondered how far up that trail you can get. So I went to find out.

Cold Boiling Lake is as the guys said, not really worth the bother. And the Bumpass Hell trail from this end is closed a hundred yards above the lake. But the trickle of gasses bubbling out of Cold Boiling Lake is the first sign I see of active volcanic processes. This hike amounted to 1.4 miles round trip.

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How big is it?

As expected, there is a rich insect life in the area. The bug spray was definitely a sound investment. Here at this rather drab little lake there was an abundance of dragon flies. Walking along the shore the hiker generates a cloud of dragon flies, like Pigpen from Peanuts. All around you for a short radius is a riot of dragon flies. I’m used to seeing maybe a handful of dragonflies in one spot at home. Here they were countless.

I continued south on the Lassen Volcanic National Park Highway, stopped at the Lassen Peak trailhead and again at Lake Helen and Emerald Lake. I briefly considered hiking to the summit. It’s 2.5 miles and about 2000 vertical feet. Difficult, but doable. I made up two reasons not to do it. There’s a lot of snow on the mountain and I didn’t have any spikes. Plus, I could do it tomorrow morning if I want to change my mind.

Just below the peak trailhead are Helen and Emerald lakes. Helen is still half frozen, deep blue water. Emerald is, well, emerald colored. I stopped at the Bumpass Hell trailhead hoping the overlook actually overlooked the place but it doesn’t. You have to hike down the canyon and around a bend to actually get to the place.

Next stop is Sulphur Works. There used to be a spa and sulfur mine here. The road goes a sidewalk’s width away from a fumerole. You park in the lot and take the sidewalk up a few yards to view it. It’s not just a view – you get a lungful of steam and sulfur. The parking lot is also the trailhead for Ridge Lakes.

After finding a shady spot to snack on my trail mix, I put my hiking shoes back on and headed up the trail. Not far from the trailhead I ran into a couple from Denmark. I asked if the trail is this steep all the way. They had only gone a short distance farther to view another bubbler. We discussed where there were hikes that yielded views. I told him that so far, the best views seem to be from the road. The answer to my question, “does it stay this steep” is “No, it gets steeper.”

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Ridge Lakes

It seemed to take a long time. I stopped quite often. Even so, I was maintaining a two mile per hour pace and caught up to a family very near the lake. At first I saw just the two boys, the older, bigger one chasing the younger with a stick. As I entered the shade they were resting in they were getting ready to continue. “Do you think it’s much farther?” Mom asks. I tell them I think it’s just over this next rise. She’s skeptical; they thought that two rises ago.

I was right, the lake was just over the rise. It was a quite gratifying hike, 2.2 miles round trip, climbing 1,045 vertical feet. Quite steep, but short and surprisingly free of people. I’m accustomed to hiking ten miles to see only six people over a three hour span. The family didn’t stop at the outlet but went in search of a nice place to sit. They took perhaps the prime spot. That’s okay, I wandered around a little.

The lake was quite scenic. Clear water, fed from melting snow. By now I was wishing I had more water. I considered getting water (and using the Steri-Pen) at the lake’s outlet. I was thinking this water would be some of the best water you could get. But I was concerned about it. The Steri-Pen will handle the biological problems, but are there chemical problems? Frankly, it troubled me how clear the water was. A few tufts of healthy looking grass grew with an inch or two of water over them, but I saw nothing growing or swimming in the water. I’d hate to ingest a bunch of arsenic or something. If I was going to fill the bottle, though, it would certainly be here, before it flows through the sulfur canyon below.

2016-07-13 13.32.24sI sat at the lake nearly an hour. A few interesting things: I saw some dirt tubes. I’ll call one a negative, one a positive. The positive are like small speed bumps, solid mounds of loose dirt. The negatives, I think, may have been tunnels but are now trenches. Are they the paths of melt water running underneath the snowbanks? Or did some creature have a network of tunnels under the snow?

I could stay as long as I wanted, thirty minutes or until dusk. Sitting, watching the world go by, sometimes the mind wanders. I pondered the emergency of an eruption. Here at the lake, I could be back at the car in thirty minutes. Quickest way off the mountain is to continue south. I’d have to abandon everything at the campsite, leaving with only the car, the electronics, and the clothes on my back.

In a gross sense, the trees and ground cover are similar to what I see at home, a mountainous pine forest with networks of streams and lakes. The trail is much smoother, though, with far fewer roots and rocks. Much of the ground cover is different. I saw no ferns and lots of Mule’s Ear, a broad leaf flower.

The family outlasted me; I headed down the trail after an hour, more or less my usual visit to an alpine lake. From Sulphur Works I continue downhill to the visitor center at the southern entrance. I got water there, washed my face and hands. I took a quick look at their terrain model of the park but didn’t browse the gift shop.

Heading back to the car I see that a guy is unloading a pallet of freight eight or ten spots downhill from where I parked. No big deal to walk the slope, but not so fun to pull a pallet jack up. I had a pull through spot, saved me the trouble of backing in to a spot. If I’d parked somewhere else, this guy would have had an easier time of it. “Don’t they let you use the loading dock?” The truck entrance is a few yards north of the parking lot entrance. “There’s already another truck there, and besides, my trailer is too long.”

One thing I wanted to do was see if I could get cell service. I almost forgot. I was about to start the car when I remembered. No cell service, but somehow I was able to receive and send text messages. Done with what communication I could perform I retraced my steps back to the campground, getting there just after three.

A lazy evening in camp, being off the trail so early. I relaxed for a while, read some of my book. For dinner I had one of the freeze-dried meals I brought: Chana Masala. The package says it serves two, but the guy at REI said it’s a decent meal after hiking all day. Whereas the rice and tuna was just short of a meal, this was more generous.

Last night we had a few bats chasing flying insects through the campground at dusk. No bats tonight. The only notable guest I had in my spot was a pretty little bird – red head, black and yellow body. Didn’t sit still long enough for a picture.

While looking for bats, a car pulled into the spot across the lane from me. A Mitsubishi Eclipse, a sporty coupe. She was the driver, blonde, skinny. He was the passenger, tall, lanky, with long dirty hair, scraggly Van Dyke beard. Not your stereotypical campers.

They got about eight big grocery sacks of stuff out of their car and spent some time trying to figure out the bear box. Their neighbor seemed to be giving them advice. I kept thinking I’d be putting the tent up if I were in their shoes. Turns out they didn’t have a tent, slept in the car. They built the biggest fire in the park. At one point, they had flames standing eight feet tall. I wondered what the heck they were going to do with all that food.

What with all the light and smoke from campers fires and the growing moon, it didn’t look to be a good night for stargazing. No matter, what else do I have to do? I wanted to listen to Holst’s The Planets but I don’t have a version of that loaded on the iPod. I do have Manfred Mann’s Solar Fire, which is partly based on Holst, so I listened to that. To cap the evening’s program off, it was Astronomy Domine by Pink Floyd.

Laguna Seca Trip: Day 2 – Bryce Canyon

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It’s a hell of a place to lose a cow. — Ebenezer Bryce, 1875

Sunday, July 10

I woke up about 6:15. I’m surprised I managed to sleep that long, being my first time sleeping on the ground in living memory. I had an apple and a protein bar for breakfast and went back to the park to hike.

I’ve been having intermittent problems with the SLR and managed to charge one battery yesterday while writing up my notes. With the freshly charged battery, the camera still refused to work. I played around with the battery pack, swapping positions of the batteries, even tried to use it without the pack. No joy. Eventually, I somehow invoked the proper magic spell for it began working again. It doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence. For much of the day, I supplemented the SLR with the cell phone.

The turnoff for the Fairyland Canyon parking lot is before you get to the entrance station. Amusingly, it is only signed for people exiting the park. So I missed the turn and had to flip a u-turn just before the entrance station.

The parking lot holds about 15 cars. I arrived a bit after 8 and was on the trail by 8:15. The trail descends through a few layers of hoodoos then makes its way around the prominence that is called Boat Mesa.

On the way down, the faces of the hoodoos in front of me are in shadow. It’s common that these hoodoos are like giant fins, long and thin. In places, some of the hoodoos seem to be glowing. In fact, the shaded face of one hoodoo is illuminated by the sunny face of the one next to it, giving it an unusual glow.

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Translucent hoodoos

There are quite a few ground squirrels along the rim. I saw one family, a mother and three children, cross the path in front of me. I don’t recall seeing a group like that before. As you descend, the squirrels disappear and are replaced by lizards. One of the birds in these parts is a familiar friend from RMNP – Steller’s Jay. I also saw a small dark blue bird, but she didn’t sit still long enough for me to get a picture.

This is a dry hike. I saw no flowing or standing water. Most of the erosion is due to the freeze/thaw cycle. Water gets in the cracks and when it freezes acts as a wedge. About 200 days a year are both above and below the freezing point. The ground is limestone which is normally white. Here it is tinted different colors by various minerals.

After descending about six hundred feet we get to the bottom of Fairyland Canyon and the base of Boat Mesa. Although water doesn’t normally flow anywhere around here, it clearly does on occasion with enough force to carry a fair amount of material out of the canyon. The ground is like an un-cohesive concrete with too much gravel, seemingly held in place by gravity and friction. Flowing water undercuts it easily.

Dozens of ridges radiate away from the base of Boat Mesa and the trail works its way past a number of them. Here, the trail is visible for a fair distance both ahead and behind. The trail alternates between rising and falling, but looking at the trail from the adjacent ridge, it seems they’ve made it as level as feasible.

I can’t help but notice that, traveling the loop clockwise, I can see more of the trail behind me than I can ahead of me. In that way, it’s like real life: we know our past better than we know our future. It must be interesting taking the trail the opposite way, having a clear view of a significant portion of trail ahead.

I met three couples hiking the opposite direction. The first looked to be in a hurry; we just exchanged greetings. A few minutes later, I chatted briefly with a second couple. They said they’d left the parking lot at about the same time I did. I failed to think to ask which parking lot. The ranger suggested I start at Fairyland Canyon and go clockwise, so I was thinking it was the “normal” way. You can start there and go counter-clockwise. Or, you could start at Sunrise Point and go either clockwise or counterclockwise. You could also take advantage of the shuttle and skip the 2.5 miles of Rim Trail that connects the two parking lots.

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Spur pano

I found myself at a point where there’s a spur on the ridge. A line of rocks discourages hikers from following the trail to the point, but clearly it’s often visited. This point gives a beautiful panoramic view of the curving canyon below. I could also see the trail drop steeply below, to what is perhaps the low point of the trail below Sunrise Point. At the bottom there’s a group of signs. Tower Bridge is 200 yards downhill and Sunrise Point is 1.7 miles above.

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Tower Bridge (right)

I went down to a spot with a nice view the Tower Bridge and took a short break here. Munched my tail mix and meant to slather on a second coat of SPF. I got distracted by the view and made my way a quarter-mile up the trail before I remembered to apply more sunscreen.

This truly is a fantastic landscape. It’s only human nature to see things in these formations. There’s the Queen, of course. But I saw a Buddha on an altar, a fat chef with a big floppy hat, busts of forgotten ancient Roman senators. There are castles and cathedrals, too, if you care to see them.

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China Wall

Near here I ran into four twenty-somethings coming down. “Are you starting or finishing?” they asked. I told them I’d started at Fairyland Canyon. They said that’s where they were headed. They wanted to get an earlier start, but one of them works in the park and had to work late yesterday; “So it goes,” they said. When I started this morning it was sunny and cool with brilliant cloudless blue skies. Now, it was sunny and on the hot side, the sun relentless and sky still cloudless. At least we had a nice breeze to take the edge off. I’m glad I got an early start.

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Rim view

On the section of Rim Trail between the two parking lots I ran into the couples from earlier. The first, the ones I didn’t chat with, I asked, “Didn’t we pass each other down below?” “Yeah, we remember you. We’re doing the loop, too.” When I came upon the second couple, they laughed as soon as they saw me. Some time ago they realized neither of us had asked where the other had started. They assumed I’d started where they did; I assumed they’d started where I did. The two couples were still only a few minutes apart – although not together, they managed to keep up almost identical paces.

The Rim Trail isn’t that spectacular, compared to the rest of the hike. This trail gives a few views much like many of the places you can drive to but much of the trail has a view to the west instead. Campgrounds instead of hoodoos.

I arrived back at my starting point at 12:30, having covered 8 miles and 2,309′ gross elevation change in four and a quarter hours. Net elevation change looks to be more like 900′, with a 400′ climb between the two lowest points and the usual ups and downs. I felt like I was taking my time; didn’t feel rushed to have kept that pace. I made it a point to pause often to take a good look around, enjoy the moment.

I stopped here for a rest, snacked on some more trail mix and drank plenty of water. Two liters turned out to be plenty; I’d barely had more than one, which matched the ranger’s prediction. The third couple I met down below came by when I was resting. I said “Hello again” but they didn’t seem to recognize me.

I was back in the car by 1:00. I decided to enter the park, take the road to the very end, then stop at each of the overlooks on the way back. By now, many of the views were beginning to look the same. Inspiration Point stands out, though. It is above perhaps the densest collection of hoodoos in the Park. On the west side of the road is a short stretch of area burned by recent forest fires. Research tells me this fire was in 2009.

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Natural Bridge

This survey of all the scenic overlooks took me until about 3pm. About this time I decided that instead of eating my camp food, I’d grab a bite in one of the restaurants. A bit early for dinner, but I’ll have the remainder of the day’s trail mix ration for a late snack.

We had a bit of high cloud cover last night. The moon will set even later tonight, so no Milky Way (unless I decide to set an alarm in the middle of the night) but perhaps things will be marginally better without clouds. As of 5:15, still not a cloud in the sky.

I’m a bit concerned about navigation on tomorrow’s drive. Yesterday, when I wanted to see if I’d missed the junction with UT 12, I had no cell service and thus had no maps. I suspect a similar fate may befall me tomorrow, so I’ve downloaded that section of maps to the phone. We’ll see how off-line navigation works.

Took a shower just before dark, then sat watching the sky change. Listened to Dhafer Youssef while the sun set, Phillip Glass as the stars lit up. Saw a satellite pass over, even saw a shooting star. Hit the sack by 10:40. Campsites on my row faced the highway, maybe forty yards away. You’d be surprised how many motorists hit those rumble strips.

Bryce Canyon National Park is an interesting place, but it’s a bit of a one-trick pony. It’s all about the hoodoos, and although you see a few hoodoos in other places, Bryce has the fantastic concentration of them. That’s all BCNP is about and this concentration is not vast, so the park is pretty compact. From the entrance station to the southernmost overlook, the road is only 17 miles long. The Park isn’t very wide; just some of the plateau above and not far below the hoodoos. I think you could hike every mile of trail here in two or three visits. It’s not a place I would want to visit often, but I’d certainly come back here again. I’d hike Navajo trail again with pleasure. I’d like to spend some time in the other parks in the area, so passing through here again is fairly likely.