Upper Storm Lake

Posted on July 30, 2026 by Dave

Jasper Creek drains the valley east of the Continental Divide, bounded by Mount Jasper on the north and Skyscraper Peak on the south. In this valley are found Jasper Lake, Devil’s Thumb Lake, Storm Lake, and Upper Storm Lake, as well as half a dozen or so unnamed lakes and ponds. Upper Storm Lake sits at 11,946′ above sea level, about a furlong from the Divide, and is the only named lake here that I haven’t visited yet. No, I won’t make you look that up: it’s an eighth of a mile.

Chad and I hiked to Storm Lake a couple of years ago, when I managed to lose one of my GoPro cameras. Before that trip, I thought it might be possible to reach the upper lake on a day hike, but once I got a good look at the terrain, I decided I’d need to spend a night camping at Jasper Lake in order to have a chance.

Sunday, July 26

As is usual, I struggled with how early we needed to get to the trailhead. There is limited parking at the trailhead. On weekends, this isn’t a big problem as they run a shuttle bus from Nederland High School to the Hessie trailhead. Since we won’t be back at the trailhead until Monday, the shuttle isn’t an option for us.

So it was a bad sign when we rolled up to the high school at seven to see the parking lot nearly full and a sign saying parking at both Hessie and Fourth of July trailheads is full. I told the volunteer we have a backcountry pass, and he got on the radio to a colleague. We were in luck: they had saved one parking spot at Hessie. Does that mean our timing was perfect?

It’s about five miles from the trailhead to Jasper Lake, but we were parked another quarter mile down the road. We arrived at our campsite just after eleven, so I was pretty slow. Carrying the backpack really slows me down. There are seven campsites at the lake. We camped on the west side, so I don’t know if any of the sites on the other side were occupied. One on the west had a tent on it when we got there, but it was gone by evening.

After setting up camp and eating lunch, we set forth for Upper Storm Lake. The climb up Jasper Creek is spectacular. You pass a series of cascades and falls surrounded by an abundance of wildflowers. We’re not above treeline yet, but the views are open. The trail peters out now and then, but navigation is fairly obvious until you get very close to Storm Lake and encounter some willow and krumholz.

Standing near the outlet of Storm Lake, the view of the terrain ahead is a bit discouraging. The north shore looks to be impassable due to a surplus of willow, and the south shore has a large rock outcropping we would have to go above. It looked like we’d have to climb a couple hundred feet to find a clear path.

Once above the south shore, things didn’t look much better. We’re standing in front of a large bowl. The two obvious routes are to head northwest and descend to the bottom of the bowl, and from there climb to Upper Storm Lake’s eastern shore. Alternatively, we could circle the bowl, heading west and curving north, climbing slightly the whole way. Neither looked particularly appealing. The lower route would mean dealing with vast fields of willow, while the upper meant crossing quite a bit of talus. We were hoping to find some grassy ramps to cross, but these were in short supply. We opted for the upper route.

Gordon led the way. He’s a faster hiker than me, and he has a knack for finding the easy path. Initially, he found some game trails to follow, but these disappeared fairly quickly. Our route, in the end, was about a mile long, with most of that being talus. It took us about two hours to reach Upper Storm Lake.

It started raining fifteen or twenty minutes before we reached the upper lake. Gordon put his raincoat on first. I was hoping he had the magic raincoat – the one that, as soon as you put it on, makes the rain stop. His coat was not magic. My coat did the trick last week, but I must have used all the magic, as today the rain continued. Oh well.

Any lake at or above 12,000′ is going to be stark. Upper Storm Lake is no exception. Dark, rain-laden clouds are coming over the Divide from the west, but the rain that falls is blowing in from the east. At the Divide, I’m accustomed to seeing layers of clouds that move in different directions. Now, the clouds all move in one direction, but the raindrops are going the wrong way. How does this work? The clouds aren’t very far above us; it didn’t seem possible for this to be happening. Just another of the wonders of weather along the Continental Divide.

We didn’t linger very long. The clouds grew more threatening every minute. Two things in particular were on my mind. First, the possibility of lightning. Above treeline, there’s nowhere to hide. Second, the rocks tend to get slippery when wet, and we had to cross the better part of a mile of talus. I mentioned the second to Gordon, but neither of us wanted to mention lightning for fear of tempting the godz. I never did see any lightning, but we did hear one peal of thunder.

The route down is typically easier to find than the route up. I often find an easier route. After surveying the options, we chose to return the way we came. Better the devil you know – the big patches of willow didn’t look any better from here. Gordon did a great job of route finding, minimizing the talus and maximizing the few grassy ramps. His balance amazes me; never a false step, never had to use his hands. I, on the other hand, managed to slip on wet rocks twice, landing unceremoniously on my ass. No harm, no foul.

Falls and Flowers
Jasper Lake
What’s with the orange needles?
Mossy
Storm Lake
Upper Storm Lake
Threatening clouds at Upper Storm Lake
Parry’s Primrose
Descending to Storm Lake

I made it back to camp a bit after five. I didn’t see anybody else at the lake, which surprised me. I was expecting all the campsites to be taken, but it very much looked like we were the only campers here.

The skies never did clear up. We had light rain off and on all night.

Monday, July 27

In the morning, I spent some time investigating the shoreline of Lake Jasper. It’s a reservoir, and with the drought conditions we’re having, the lake is at perhaps its lowest level, maybe twelve feet below its full capacity. It’s hard for me to judge when the water level went down. Some of this liminal space between the current shoreline and the usual one is dried and cracked, while in other areas it’s still muddy. Some plants are just starting to grow here, perhaps not more than a week old. Moose tracks are all over the place.

Years ago, I seldom saw moose. When I did see them, it was only on the western slope. Now, east or west of the Divide, I see moose on almost every hike. While exploring, I heard a distant splash. It took me a few minutes to spot him. He was swimming across the lake about a hundred yards away. When he got to the opposite shore, he shook himself like a dog, then began to frolic: jumping back and forth, splashing in the water. He was too far away to get a decent picture. We ran into him later, on the trail when we were hiking out.

It took me a bit longer to hike out than it did to get in. You’d think I’d have an easier time going downhill, but that’s seldom the case for me. Today I struggled. I think my age is catching up to me. I do just fine on day hikes, but the 35lb backpack kicks my ass. I have a permit for next month, but I’m wondering whether I’ll cancel it or not.

Moose frolic
Who are you looking at?

Despite my growing reluctance to carry a heavy backpack, the poor weather, and the difficult hike from Storm Lake to Upper Storm Lake, I had a good time. My irrational desire to always “bag” new lakes compels me to visit places that may not be worth the trip. I can’t recommend that hikers go to Upper Storm Lake, as “the juice isn’t worth the squeeze”, but I gained a warm sense of accomplishment by going there.

Return to Pine Marten

Posted on August 25, 2025 by Dave

I have a compulsion to collect things. It’s a mental defect. As a kid, it was coins and Hot Wheels. Growing up, I switched to books, magazines, records, CDs, and more. In a materialistic sense, it’s not healthy. I’m working on myself. It’s been a while since I’ve bought a book, and I’m trying not to buy a book unless I can’t get it from the library. I haven’t bought a CD or magazine in years now.

But I can’t help myself. I still collect things. Now it’s race tracks and alpine lakes.

Two days before this backpacking trip, I returned from a trip to Europe to drive on two race tracks – Spa-Francorchamps and the Nordschleife. Now it’s time to bag another alpine lake or two.

A side-effect of my lake collecting is that when I go backpacking, it’s more of an expedition than a “hey, let’s spend a couple of days in the back country.” I have to go somewhere new. I’ve been to a lot of beautiful lakes, but I’m driven to go somewhere new. As a bonus, we could make an assault on Pettingell Lake and maybe find Lake Solitude, which we missed last time. So that’s the expedition. Primary objective: Lake Powell. Secondary objectives: Pettingell and Solitude.

Lake Powell is quite remote. The guidebooks suggest getting there from the east side – via Black Lake and Frozen Lake. That route is well beyond my ability. Definite “no-go” terrain for me. So if I want to get to Lake Powell, I’m looking at a significant bushwhack up North Inlet.

When Gordon and I camped at Pine Marten before, the target was Lake Catherine, via Nokoni and Nanita. We made a loop, returning from Catherine down its outlet to the confluence with North Inlet, and down the valley to camp.

So we’ve already been through the terrain on more than half the route to Lake Powell. I said on that last trip that it was “an arduous bushwhack,” but I also said we managed a mile an hour. So that’s three and a half hours to Powell. Add some buffer, and nine hours should cover it, including a break. That’ll be Monday. Sunday is the hike to the campsite, and an attempt to reach Pettingell.

August 10-12

I’ve described the hike to Pine Marten before, so I won’t repeat myself.

We arrived at the campsite around 1:30. The first thing I did was set up the camp chair. When I bought the chair, I was wondering if it would be worth the bulk and weight on these backpacking trips, but I no longer have any doubts.

At 3:30, we headed up the trail to Lake Nokoni to get to Pettingell. I’ve been to the top of the ridge above Nokoni and didn’t like it. It’s steep – about as steep as I want to deal with. As a bonus, the footing is bad. But since I’ve done it before, I know I can do it again.

Gordon had put eyes on the lake on the last trip, but didn’t get there. So he had a good idea of a good route. It turned out to be about as steep as the slope above Nokoni. The footing wasn’t treacherous, though.

We enjoyed a nice dinner picnic break on the shore of Pettingell. We didn’t lollygag for long, though, as the sun had dropped below the ridge.

The climb above Pettingell was challenging. From Pettingell to the top of the ridge is about 330′ more than from Nokoni to the top. Gordon led the way. It didn’t take long for me to really start to blow! I was at maximum respiration. Deep breaths, as fast as the bellows would operate. Gordon would pause and let me catch up. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

I had a few minutes to recover as we crossed the relatively flat top of the ridge – thin forest, no deadfall, easy walking – before reaching the steep, potentially slippery descent. The view is great, so I just took my time.

Off the ridge and back at beautiful Lake Nokoni, Gordon stayed a bit to enjoy the surroundings. I was so adrenalized, I couldn’t sit down, so I headed back to camp. I got there a bit after 7, and Gordon was 10 or 15 minutes behind me.

Sunday night was cold. In my sleeping bag, I wore my thermal underwear, sweat pants, long-sleeved t-shirt, and my hoodie.

Monday morning, we had a guest visit our camp. Gordon and I were seated about 15′ apart, me in my camp chair, him on a rock. He said, “There’s a pine marten right behind you.” I couldn’t see it, so I got out of the chair and took a couple of steps toward Gordon before turning around. It casually loped out of sight. Neither of us stood a chance of getting a picture. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a pine marten.

At a quarter to nine, we headed up the valley. It was rough going. An arduous bushwhack, no doubt. And we weren’t making a mile an hour. Going was fairly easy, as long as we could follow game trails. That was all too seldom.

The going got a bit harder after the confluence with Catherine’s outlet stream, because we were only now gaining any significant elevation.

About a fat half-mile from the lake, still about 700′ of elevation above us – a third of our total elevation gain – we talked timing. I wanted to be back at camp no later than 7. We could continue for an hour more; we might get there in that time, but even if we did, we’d have to turn around right away.

We stopped and had lunch, resting for only half an hour before heading back. On the return trip, we had as much difficulty finding game trails to follow as we did on the way up.

At one point, hours away from camp, standing in dense forest, a pile of deer pellets at my feet, looking for tracks, I said to myself (in a joking way) that I should consider the life choices that put me here.

We did stumble upon Lake Solitude. I was beginning to think it was fictional. We’d been through the valley twice without finding it. Sure, it’s on the satellite image and on all the maps and in the hiking guides, but it’s an elaborate fiction. But, finally, here it is, in all its … ordinaryness. Worth a visit only if you’re collecting lakes, or if you come across it on the way to somewhere interesting.

We arrived back in camp at 6. If we’d have continued another hour, we wouldn’t have gotten back until 8, around dusk. Not good.

Our return took us right through Pine Marten #2, now occupied by two women. We chatted a bit. They’ve visited a number of lakes that are on my “impossible” list – places beyond my range or skill. They said the same thing others have said – the way to get to Powell is from the other side. That route is farther out of my capabilities than today’s route.

I don’t want to make the day out to be miserable. Well, I sort of do. But there are always interesting or wonderful things to see. Following the tracks, we came across places where elk had bedded down for a night. One spot had a strong musky smell. I think the elk were here just a few hours earlier.

We came across a moose antler, an elk antler, what was probably part of a hipbone of a deer, and a couple of jawbones. On the steeper section, we passed by a couple of beautiful cascades and falls.

Pettingell Lake
Pettingell Lake
Bear poo?
Mt. Alice
Lake Solitude
Lake Solitude

Monday night was warmer. I slept better – in fact, one of my best nights’ sleep in two weeks. I guess nine hours of bushwhacking will do that to you.

Much of the forest that the trail to the camp goes through was burned a few years ago. Fires are a natural part of the forest ecosystem. (But the gigantic fires we’ve been having the last couple of decades is not natural.) I try to find the positives: one of the positives for a good stretch of trail is an abundance of raspberries. Raspberries need direct sunlight, so they’re thriving after the fire. I snacked liberally on berries both passes through this section.

On the hike back to the car, nearly at the Park boundary, we ran into a ranger. After checking our permit, he asked a few questions about wildlife. I mentioned that we saw a pine marten at camp. He said that a few years ago, he saw one there but failed to get a photo of it next to the Pine Marten sign – they don’t pose for pictures. I also said we finally found Lake Solitude. He called it a “mud hole”, so I’m not the only one with a low opinion of the place.

I’m a little disappointed we didn’t make it to Lake Powell. I knew it would be a challenge for me (Gordon could have made it – I slow him down considerably), but I’m a believer that one’s reach should exceed one’s grasp. You can’t find your limits without trying to surpass them. On the other hand, I finally bagged Pettingell Lake and Lake Solitude, and enjoyed a couple of days in the back country. Any time in the Park is a good time in the Park.

Iceberg Lakes

Posted on July 24, 2025 by Dave

I told Gordon, “Let’s camp at Clayton Lake for a couple of nights and go to Iceberg Lakes. Nobody goes there; we’ll have the place to ourselves. I know a game trail that will take us there with ease. We don’t need a permit, so we can go any time. Pick a date.”

I’m afraid I gave him some misinformation.

I’m always paranoid about parking at the trailhead. We were early enough on a weekday to have no problems, but when we got back to the car on Sunday, a bit after noon, cars were parked for a quarter of a mile down the side of the road.

On the back of my map I had scribbled a note: “about 300 yards past coil of cable, take the game trail to the left, next to a sawn tree trunk.” I probably mentioned the coil to Gordon three or four times. I had a chat with a hiker going the other way and asked her if she saw the coil. She said she had on the way up but not on the way down. The trail had been worked on in a few places and I was wondering if maybe they’d taken the cable away.

All of a sudden, we arrive at Crater Lakes. I never saw the coil. Without the coil as a landmark, it’s a tough ask to pick the right downed tree trunk. So much for finding my nice game trail. Not a big deal, though, as it’s pretty easy navigation. Unfortunately, we never did find a game trail, which surprised and disappointed me.

We arrived at Clayton Lake a few minutes after one. We take the obvious best campsite, at the edge of a large meadow atop a short slope above the lake. Two hours later, two guys show up. There aren’t many places to camp; they ended on a shelf above the other side of the lake.

So much for having the place to ourselves. The next day, another two backpackers showed up and a handful of day trippers visited. The first two backpackers asked, “Are you fishing, or doing anything else exciting?” Different strokes, but I never considered fishing “exciting.” When we told the other backpackers we’d been to Iceberg Lakes, they asked if we fished up there.

After sitting beside Clayton Lake for several quality hours, it’s obvious why people like to fish there: the lake is loaded with fish. So many were rising, there were so many ripples, it looked like it was sprinkling. The fish are pretty well camouflaged, but if there’s no glare on the water, they’re easy to spot. Every one I saw was between six and eight inches long.

Friday night, I discovered that I had a bit of a technical issue. I carry a small battery pack on these hikes so I can charge the phone or the action camera. It’ll even charge my new Steripen. Unfortunately, it wasn’t charging my new phone. Gordon had a battery pack, too, but my phone didn’t like it, either.

The problem is, I haven’t figured out how to use the Insta360 without using the phone. And it puts a surprising load on the phone’s battery. I’d been doing some filming during the afternoon, and, well, the phone battery situation wasn’t good. I’d have to keep the phone turned off except when I was working the Insta.

Campsite and meadow
Clayton Lake at dusk
Bullwinkle! (photo by Gordon)
Yours truly, headed to Iceberg Lakes (photo by Gordon)
Ponds between Clayton Lake and Iceberg Lakes
Iceberg Lake (Northern)
Iceberg Lake (Southern)
Gordon on ice
Pool on ice (photo by Gordon)
Puddle on ice (photo by Gordon)

Saturday, we hiked up to Iceberg Lakes. Clayton is at about 11,000′; Iceberg Lakes are about 700′ higher, just 300′ below the Continental Divide. Reading the map, it looked like it might be possible to climb alongside the outlet of the southern lake. In actuality, that doesn’t look like a very fun route. Instead, we climbed some grassy ramps up the right side and gained the northern lake from the northeast.

It was a fun little climb. We avoided willow and Krumholtz almost entirely and only had to cross a couple of small talus fields. We passed a shelf that the map shows holding one pond; today there were three. About here we encountered Bullwinkle the Moose. He was a big boy, and he was on a mission to visit those three ponds. We were pretty much in his way, but he didn’t care. I kept a small cluster of stunted trees between us as he passed.

The northern Iceberg Lake is sort of gourd-shaped. The smaller, northern part of the gourd is covered with slabs of ice, free-floating – not connected to the shore. The southern lake is nearly round, and about two-thirds ice-bound. Even at the edges, the ice is thick enough to carry a couple of pretty large rocks that had fallen onto the lake over the winter. There’s still a bank of snow on top of the ice. Sapphire pools of water dot the area.

I passed the time relaxing on the saddle above both lakes. Gordon explored, as he usually does. From the saddle, you can see hikers on the Continental Divide Trail. When I first saw them, I thought they were crossing over from Crater Lakes. It’s a busier trail than I’d have imagined; I saw nine hikers in an hour or so.

As can be expected along the Continental Divide, it was on the windy side. After some time at the southern lake and on the saddle between, we looked for a spot out of the wind at the northern lake. We found little relief.

On the hike out, we managed to retrace our footsteps almost exactly, but we did not see Bullwinkle.

Late that afternoon, we were sitting in our camp. Here I should mention that I bought a camp chair. It folds down pretty compactly and weighs only a pound, four ounces. Or is it 1.4 pounds? In any event, I enjoyed relaxing in a chair. We were shooting the shit when we heard a loud splash in the lake. Our friend Bullwinkle walked across the western end of the lake to get to the south shore. He climbed up to where we think the first backpackers were camped the previous night.

Sunday morning, we considered whether we wanted to go out the way we came in, or follow the old trail down the outlet stream that everybody else uses. We stuck with our route. Unfortunately, we traversed around the slope without descending enough, and before long, we were on a ridge about 250′ above Crater Lakes. We backtracked a bit to find a place to descend. It was only near the bottom of our descent when we came across a nice game trail. It was the one I followed out last time, the one I missed on the way in..

Reaching the trail, the first person we met was a volunteer ranger. He quizzed us on our bear etiquette and made some notes in a little memo pad. I wanted to ask, Bugs Bunny style, whatcha writing, doc? I wanted to ask, Dad joke style, if this was going on our permanent record. I behaved.

It was a nice trip. Even if it was more crowded than expected, even if we missed the game trail. Clayton Lake is unspectacular, but I’m jaded. It’s a great place to fish, but bring the heavy-duty bug spray, because it’s a mosquito-rich environment.

Upper Chipmunk

Posted on September 15, 2024 by Dave

I scheduled only one backpacking trip this year, two nights at the Upper Chipmunk campsite near Ypsilon Lake. The objective is to get to Spectacle Lakes. Just judging by mileage, I should be able to do Spectacle Lakes as a day hike. I’ve already done Chiquita Lake and Fay Lakes as day hikes. Both those are reached from the same trailhead, are farther than Spectacle, and at about the same elevation. But the last push to Spectacle involves negotiating a steep granite slab and may be more than I can deal with.

September 2-4

I didn’t see much point in getting an early start. The campsite is just a bit over four miles, so it’s long a long hike. The lot at the trailhead isn’t very large, but when I picked up our permit, the ranger told me we could park at the picnic area for the alluvial fan. Still, I had my usual anxiety about finding a parking spot.

Naturally, the trailhead lot was full when we got there about ten. We headed to the picnic area. There are two parking lots for the alluvial fan, one east and one west. The two are connected by a paved path that is wheelchair accessible. The trailhead is east of the east lot and, as you might guess, this lot was full. We did find a place in the west lot, though, so we were ready to go. Parking here, our hike was half a mile longer each way, but it’s an easy half mile so not a bad trade for leaving three hours later. In compensation for the bonus half-mile hike, we spotted a few wild turkeys.

What I hadn’t given much thought to was my lunch schedule. I’m a creature of habit. I like my lunch in the noon hour. The noon hour had come and gone and we seemed to still be a fair distance from camp. I didn’t want to stop on the trail to dine, so kept pushing. But my breakfast was nothing but a memory and the uphill hike carrying thirty pounds more than I take on a day hike had me really wanting to take a break.

Not long past Chipmunk Lake (which is really a pond and not deserving the epithet “lake”, but it has a very nice view of Ypsilon Mountain), I was really struggling. I knew we couldn’t have far to go, but I had to take a break. I spotted a dandy place to relax: a the base of a talus field, basking in the sun, with a wealth of raspberry bushes bursting with ripe berries. Oh, joy! The raspberries in my back yard were pitiful this year, so I was delighted to eat some fresh, tasty berries.

After our rest, we resumed our slog. Thirty-five paces later, we reached the sign pointing up a spur trail to our campsite. Yeah, shame on me for taking a break. But, boy, were those raspberries delicious. I came back for a second visit the next day and even grabbed a last few berries on our hike out.

Upper Chipmunk has two campsites and a privy. One site was occupied, so we took the other. There really isn’t much to choose from between the two. There’s a minimum of deadfall around the sites. They’re fairly close to each other though. No matter, it’s a pleasant place to spend a couple of nights. We tucked into lunch, then started setting up camp.

The moment I finished erecting my tent, the skies opened up. It wasn’t rain, it wasn’t snow, it wasn’t hail. It wasn’t even graupel. It was slush. Slush was falling from the sky. Slushballs as big as a quarter inch diameter, plopping everywhere. I dove into the tent to wait it out. The slush turned to rain, which lasted almost an hour. I had a little power nap. About an hour later, the storm abated and I crawled out of my tent.

Gordon’s timing wasn’t so good. He uses a hammock with a cover, but he hadn’t gotten it put together before the skies opened. He spent the hour sitting on a boulder, huddled under his poncho. He didn’t say so, but I imagine he was wondering why I had to take a break in a raspberry patch so close to our campsite. Sorry, Gordon.

I collected enough slush from the rain cover of my tent to pack around my beers. I’ve gotten accustomed to drinking warm (or warmish) beer on my hikes, so this was nice.

We spent what was left of the afternoon exploring the area around the campsite and Ypsilon Lake. There is a trail from each campsite down to the lake that’s a bit shorter than taking the main trail, but to return to the campsite it’s easy to get on the wrong trail and end up at the other site.

I’ve been to Ypsilon Lake at least four other times. I like to think I’m paying attention to my surroundings, but that’s not always true. After sitting beside the water for an extended time, I began to wonder if the lake is dead. I saw occasional disturbances on the surface of the water and I thought it was fish rising to the surface. But the water is clear and from the shore you can see a fair piece into the lake. I never saw a fish, and there’s nothing growing on the lake bed. We spotted a solitary duck criss-crossing the water, clearly hunting for something. I watched it dive underwater a few times, staying under for as much as 20 seconds and coming up many yards from where it dove, but I have no idea if it scored anything.

On day two, we had a leisurely morning. Spectacle Lakes are only about a mile from our campsite. There’s no official trail, but enough people make the trip that route finding isn’t terribly difficult. It’s steep, and there are a couple of water crossings. I didn’t find any more raspberries on our climb, but we did come across some huckleberries. Not quite ripe yet.

By 10:30, we had arrived at the crux of the trip. I’ve read a number of descriptions of the route. They all mention this steep slab. I’m not a big fan of steep slabs. When we got to the bottom of this one, I knew I wouldn’t be going any farther. I am always concerned that I’ll be tempted to climb up something that I won’t be able to climb back down. I wasn’t tempted to climb up this. Gordon is more of a mountain goat, though, and he had no qualms about it.

I waited on this ledge, somewhere about 11,200′ above sea level, while Gordon continued up to the lakes. It’s a pleasant little spot for a picnic, so I ate my lunch. No, I didn’t bring one of my beers with me. While dining, my phone chimed with a text message. I wouldn’t have thought I’d have cell service up here. I had a nice view of Twin Sisters, Estes Cone, and Longs Peak that I posted to Instagram. Technology, gotta love it!

In the lead up to this trip, I’ve been telling folks that I was counting on Gordon to get me to the lakes. It never was a serious thought: nobody can take me where I’m unwilling to go. But I think he took it to heart. After he returned to the ledge, with full knowledge of what lies between here and the lakes, he told me he thinks he can get me there. All we need is a length of rope with knots every few feet. That would get me past this twenty or thirty feet of terrain I’m not happy about. Needless to say, we didn’t bring any rope. I’ve mentally put Spectacle Lakes on my list of RMNP lakes that are beyond my reach.

We spent another afternoon in the environs of Ypsilon Lake. Gordon is a curious guy, always interested in his surroundings. He made a circumnavigation of the lake, then sat a few yards from my position. He found a rock by the water where a few lady bugs appear to be farming aphids. Maybe not aphids. But these lady bugs sure had an insect farm of some sort on that rock. While he was watching the lady bug insect farm, a ground squirrel stole one of his nuts. The next time the squirrel took a nut, Gordon got a close-up of it.

Wild Turkey
Raspberry patch
Our campsite
Slush-cooled beers
Ypsilon Lake outlet
Ledge view
How to proceed?
Spot Gordon
Ypsilon Lake
Gordon, nature photographer
Huckleberries!

Other than our slush storm, the weather was quite nice on Monday and Tuesday. It didn’t get very cold overnight, and when I ventured out of my tent for a “comfort break” in the wee hours of the morning, the sky was clear, moonless, and full of stars. I didn’t see the Milky Way, though. So it goes.

Before turning in on Tuesday night, we talked about what time we wanted to pack up in the morning. We agreed on 9:00, but the morning dawned overcast and threatening. We packed up early and were on the trail before it started sprinkling. It never rained very hard, but the low hanging clouds cut the tops off the high mountains: judging from the view of Longs Peak, the ceiling was not much above 11,000′.

I have no video for this trip. I managed to leave the GoPro on the living room floor where it does me no good. So it goes. My other technological failure was with my water purification. My Steri-Pen worked the first time I refilled my water bottle, but didn’t work after that. I’ve since swapped the batteries but it’s still not working. I guess I’ll be looking for a replacement before my next backpacking trip.

In spite of not reaching my destination, it was a nice trip.

Return to Spruce Canyon

Posted on August 28, 2023 by Dave

Back in August of 2019, I made an attempt to reach the four lakes at the head of Spruce Canyon: Hourglass Lake, Rainbow Lake, Lake Irene, and Sprague Tarn. I made it to only the first of those. It was a fairly miserable hike.

Last year, I visited Spruce Lake (which, curiously, is not in Spruce Canyon). The idea on that hike was to see more of the East Troublesome burn scar. Much of the trail passes through forest that was thoroughly burned. It seemed to me that a motivated hiker might be able to bushwhack up Spruce Canyon a lot easier now. I know the trees and deadfall don’t burn to ashes, but judging by much of what I saw, the underbrush should be pretty much gone, and with nothing but burned trunks standing, visibility for route-finding should be much improved.

So I decided to make a return trip.

Tuesday, August 22

Reckoning that it’s only a three-hour hike to the campsite at Spruce Lake, we decided on a relatively late start and lunch in Estes before setting out. We decided on Smokin’ Dave’s BBQ. There’s nothing like over-eating a bunch of barbecue before setting off on a hot day, carrying a 34 lb backpack. Probably not the best lunch choice.

It seems I’m always playing a mental game of “what did I forget” or “what will go wrong”. I don’t think I’m particularly pessimistic about things in general. I often forget things (in spite of constantly making checklists) and nothing ever goes perfectly. I always hope that if I forget something, it’ll be something that’s not mission-critical. And that if anything goes wrong, it’s something minor.

So let’s get this out of the way right off the bat. My checklists served their purpose and nothing was forgotten. But a couple of minor things did go wrong. When backpacking, I carry two water bottles and a Steri-Pen to purify more water. I only need two bottles in camp and on the hike in or out, only one of them is full. Getting out of Gordon’s truck, I managed to drop my full bottle, which pretty much shattered when it hit the ground. The second mishap is that the batteries in my Steri-Pen died after two uses. So, for pretty much the whole trip I was hounding Gordon to filter some more water for me.

The hike to Spruce Lake was uneventful. It took us just a few minutes less than the three hours I anticipated. There are two campsites at Spruce Lake. Neither was occupied when we arrived, and we took the one closer to the lake (and further from the privy). I’ve always been under the impression that the backcountry campsites get sold out for the year in the first few days of March. I was a bit surprised, then, that nobody ever camped at the other site. On our previous trip a few weeks ago, the second campsite went empty one night. That’s a 37% vacancy rate. Do that many people make reservations but never show up?

When I picked up the permit last month, I was warned that there was a curious moose in the area. And when we entered the park, the ranger said to watch out for the large moose at Spruce Lake. I couldn’t help but wonder, then, if we were to be on the lookout for a large curious moose, or a large moose and a curious one.

After setting up camp, we sat on the shore of the lake to relax. We immediately spotted a bull moose on the far shore. We heard a loud splash a few minutes later and saw a cow moose wading or swimming out into the lake. My first thought was that it was swimming, but it could be that where she crossed it wasn’t all that deep. She was making good progress. Gordon wondered aloud if we should be concerned that she was heading straight for us.

She got out of the water 20 or 30 feet from us, then circled around us to get back into the water more toward the outlet. Meanwhile, the bull was working his way toward the outlet area as well. In 2019, we saw a cow here with a calf. This might be the same cow, and the bull might be the calf. On the other hand, these could be different moose entirely. He was a bit smaller than she. I’m not up on my moose behavior: they’re solitary beasts, and not territorial, but do they tolerate one another?

Bullwinkle and … Cowwinkle?
Moonset over Gabletop Mountain
Greenback cutthroat trout
Loomis Lake
Spruce Lake and Castle Rock
Trailside doe eating breakfast

I went back to the camp to have dinner. Before long, the cow traipsed into camp. Not so much into camp as around it. She kept an eye on me as she made her orbit. Was she the curious moose we were warned about?

Wednesday, August 23

To get to the head of Spruce Canyon from Spruce Lake, the idea is to contour around Castle Rock, converging with Spruce Creek without losing any elevation. As I said earlier, I hoped the fire would allow for better route-finding and somewhat easier passage.

We were on the fringes of the burn scar, sometimes in badly burned areas, sometimes in a living forest. Visibility was somewhat better, but the bushwhacking was still grueling. Last time, we only managed half a mile an hour. I don’t think we were moving any faster today. We contoured around a fairly steep section. Where it was burned and steep, the footing was a bit treacherous. By the end of the morning, I’d fallen on my ass four times. Check that – it was three times on my ass, once on my face.

Each time I fell, I’d end up with my hands in the dirt. Each time, ash and soot and soil stuck to my sweating hands. The soil came off easily enough, but the soot and ash clung tenaciously to my fingernails.

Two hours into our expedition I could see ahead to where we were going and back to where we’d come from. I made the executive decision to abort the mission. I do these hikes to have fun. I was wrong that it would be easier this time. Soot stained my hands and pants and dealing with the deadfall was exhausting. I hauled out Plan B: hike to Loomis Lake after a lunch break back at Spruce Lake. Gordon didn’t seem too disappointed to turn around.

After lunch and a bit of moose-watching, we headed to Loomis Lake. I’ve been there twice before and I don’t recall it being particularly challenging. So I was surprised and disappointed that it was much more difficult than I recalled. As it turned out, on the way up to Loomis Lake, we lost the trail four times. starting right at Spruce Lake. Two other times we lost the trail going around deadfall that blocked the way. For a short while, I felt like I was back in Spruce Canyon.

About two-thirds of the way from Spruce Lake to Loomis Lake, you pass by a pond. There’s a big boulder that in the wettest time of the year is an island but is usually a peninsula. On that rock, clings a fairly good-sized tree. There is no soil, just a few cracks in the granite. That a tree of that size has managed to grow there for decades amazes me. The tenacity of life.

If you manage to follow the trail, it really isn’t a difficult hike. Unfortunately for me, every time I’ve been to Loomis, it’s been overcast. I still don’t have a decent picture of the place. It’s one of those “stark beauty” sorts of places, surrounded by imposing rock walls. The gray clouds and diffused light make it a bit gloomy. I’d like to see it in bright sunlight.

On the way down, we easily followed the trail. It started to sprinkle a bit, threatening rain. Usually, I have to put the raincoat on to make the rain stop; today all I had to do was tell Gordon I might need to stop to put on the coat. Once I said it, it pretty much stopped right away.

We were back to Spruce Lake and camp for dinner and more moose-watching. This evening, it was two bulls. They stayed on the opposite side of the lake, so I didn’t get a great look at them.

I climbed into the sack not long after dark. I’m generally up until well after 11, but I nodded off pretty quickly. At 9:30 it started raining. It really came down for a while, but moderated before long. I don’t know how long it lasted, but it was more than an hour. A good soaking. The tent’s rain cover did its job, keeping everything inside the tent and the little atrium dry.

Thursday, August 24

We awoke to mostly sunny skies – a pleasant morning.

The hike out was just under three hours. We came across a doe that insisted on grazing right next to the trail, not at all concerned about our presence.

My dad always used to say, “I was wrong once. I thought I made a mistake!”

That’s my story with Spruce Canyon. I thought I made a mistake saying I’d never make it to Rainbow Lake, Irene Lake, and Sprague Glacier, but I was wrong!

The other route to those destinations would be from Flattop. It’s not in my day-hike range from there, at well over 8 miles each way and a big climb. And I’ll not make the attempt via Spruce Canyon again, as I said after my first attempt.

So I’ve been twice unsuccessful in reaching three of the four points of interest in Spruce Canyon. I am not disappointed. Both times it was a bit miserable, but a miserable day in the forest is still a good day. I failed to reach my goal, but I’m okay with that. If you always reach your goals, you’re doing it wrong.

Porcupine 2

Posted on August 2, 2023 by Dave

Saturday, July 29

We had a leisurely morning, putting boots on the trail shortly after 8.

As I said, I’ve hiked to Bench Lake before, solo. I remember easily finding the beginning of the “trail”. I recall seeing a few cairns, and that the trail was not great, disappearing and reappearing, but I don’t remember it being particularly challenging. I have a quite distinct memory of the final few yards before reaching the lake where I lost my full water bottle.

For most of my professional life, when doing software support, I had a saying: “The user is not a reliable witness.” They either don’t really remember what they did, or they have some motive for not telling the whole story. When it comes to getting from the trail to Bench Lake, I was not a reliable witness.

We found no obvious trail near Ptarmigan Creek. Route finding was challenging. We did come across a few small cairns, but very few. And the last few yards involved a five or six-foot climb up solid rock, not the steep, loose stuff I distinctly recall. How is it my memory has tricked me so?

When we arrived at this final six-foot climb we met two hikers on their way down. They had zone camped up here. They said they’d wanted to “get to the lake”, but didn’t say which one. I think they meant Ptarmigan Lake. In any event, Bench Lake was the only one they reached. I give them lots of credit, climbing up here with backpacks.

I don’t know how many hikers make it up here, but I don’t imagine it’s many. Even so, they found somebody’s water bottle. It wasn’t mine from the last time I was here, but a disposable one. They reported seeing a nice herd of elk and that they found an elk skeleton. We exchanged farewells and headed our separate ways.

Standing at the outlet of Bench Lake you are at the foot of a large valley, “The Wonderland”. From here, we will head north up the valley to find the confluence of the outlet streams of the three alpine lakes. In theory, we could go to either Snowdrift or Wonderland and come down the other. No amount of map study is as good as getting eyes on the terrain.

Until about September, the choice in these valleys is whether to slog through marshy meadows or keep to higher ground and deal with deadfall mazes. I didn’t mind the wet ground so much, it was never ankle-deep. But Gordon was in lightweight shoes and was getting his feet wet. We kept switching back and forth.

We were nearly to the confluence before we got a good view of the outlet from Snowdrift. It looked really steep. I certainly didn’t want to hike down it, and I wasn’t sure I was willing to go up. It was getting on towards 11, and we still had a mile of bushwhacking and 700 vertical feet to go. There was no way I’d be able to get to both today, so it was an easy decision to head to Wonderland Lake and skip Snowdrift.

The creek in this wide, flat valley often becomes braided, running two, three, or four courses through the meadows. We crossed Ptarmigan’s outlet and then Wonderland’s, to climb up to the lake on the western side of its stream. We made at least four crossings to cross the two streams. In this area, we came across where the elk had bedded down. The grass was flattened by five or six elk. We didn’t see any elk all day, it’s a big valley, but I was stepping over their droppings constantly.

Having made our way to the head of the valley, it was time to make our second big climb: 350′ in 0.2 miles. Gordon led the way. He’s an excellent route-finder. He’s sensitive to my limitations regarding exposure, and he’s quicker than I am and gets far enough ahead of me that even if he backtracks a few yards, I never catch up. Saves me a lot of effort.

At the top of the climb, you emerge onto a broad and deep shelf of dune-like granite marbled with ponds and grassy ramps. The shelf holds both lakes, maybe half a mile apart. We still had another two hundred feet to climb, but nothing steep. There was no krummholz, and the only willow I saw was no more than a foot tall and easily avoided. Maybe it was the climb, but the view of Andrews Peak behind us was breathtaking.

The second or third time we told each other the lake was over the next rise, we finally emerged above the southern shore.

The hike from the campsite to the lake is only about three miles. Adding a mile round trip to the other lake doesn’t sound too bad, particularly given the open sight lines. We didn’t get to the lake until 12:35, so maybe had we left an hour earlier… even so, it wouldn’t have mattered. I was beat: my next step from here was to head back to camp.

I ate my picnic lunch and watched the world go by. Gordon circumnavigated the lake, pausing often to inspect something that caught his attention. We started back.

Bench Lake and the valley beyond
Bench Lake
Andrews Peak
“Wonderland Lake”
Elk backbone

Only a few steps below the lake it started raining, soon followed by rolling thunder. After a few minutes, the rain turned to hail. But it was over before long. We didn’t exactly follow our route up. Not that we weren’t trying. “Did we come up the right side of that outcropping or the left?”

Back near the confluence of the streams, before making four or five crossings, we came across the elk skeleton the other hikers reported. I’ve seen a few now, and generally they’re not so much “skeletons” as “piles of bones”. This one, though, had an intact backbone.

Approaching Bench Lake, we came across a tree with an NPS sign posting “No Fishing”. I’m sure we walked right by it on the way up, but it’s facing north instead of south. It’s pretty weather-worn; has probably been there for several years. I wonder how often they send a ranger up there to replace it.

Just before returning to where we met the other hikers, we spotted a nice game trail. Gordon followed it. It wasn’t in the right direction; he suggested that it just bypassed the big rock we’d have to climb down. I wondered aloud how far we wanted to follow it. Gordon’s response was, “That’s the question!” We never turned back.

Next to Bench Lake’s outlet is a glacial knob about a hundred feet high. The trail took us over the saddle between the knob and the mountain flank to the east. In camp last night, I spent quite a while looking at this terrain. I was wondering if it might be easier just to head to Ptarmigan Creek in a straight line from the camp instead of taking the trail to the creek. It seemed doable. I didn’t even consider coming down from the saddle, though.

Game trails are nice until they’re not. This one was nice for quite a while before it petered out on a stretch of steep, loose aggregate. My favorite! I was too concentrated on my next step to look for my tent down below. I’m sure there were several places where it would have been visible. The steep, loose stuff turned into a deadfall maze that eventually led us to Ptarmigan Creek, only a hundred yards or so above the trail.

Back at camp, we put our cans of beer in the stream to chill. We were visited again by the lone doe, retracing her steps of yesterday evening almost exactly, and at almost the same time of day. She made an extra visit, well after eight, when all was in shadow, she in a mad dash.

It was overcast when we turned in, but on my early morning comfort break the stars were shining brightly.

Sunday, July 30

The hike out was routine. I spotted two snakes, one not longer than 18″, the other not shorter than a foot. I’ve seen snakes in the Park before, but not more than a handful. I was surprised to see two, within just a few minutes of each other. I also had a covey of dusky grouse cross the trail in front of me. I didn’t get a good count, maybe a dozen, including four young ones.

I was happy to be headed home. Yesterday was a maximum effort day; exhausting but fulfilling. I’m so fortunate that I am healthy enough and fit enough and have the means to take these trips. I try not to take it for granted.

I really enjoy navigating my way through this untracked wilderness.

Porcupine 1

Posted on July 31, 2023 by Dave

Ptarmigan Creek is about six and a half miles up the North Inlet trail. The creek joins North Inlet after falling about a thousand feet in about half a mile. The creek drains a hanging valley called “The Wonderland”. In this large valley are Bench Lake, perched above War Dance Falls, and three high alpine lakes: Ptarmigan Lake, Snowdrift Lake, and “Wonderland Lake”. (“Wonderland Lake” is not officially named but is widely used.)

I’ve day hiked to Ptarmigan Lake and Bench Lake and know that the other two are well out of my single-day range. Regular readers will recall that I’m a big fan of the North Inlet Trail. My two longest day hikes were on this trail. Gordon and I did a backpacking trip three years ago and on the hike out, I paid particular attention to the locations of each of the campsites near Ptarmigan Creek.

The plan was to spend two nights at Porcupine, a quarter of a mile from Ptarmigan Creek. Hike in on Friday, spend all day Saturday in “The Wonderland” in an attempt to visit Snowdrift Lake and “Wonderland Lake”, and hike out on Sunday. Here’s what Lisa Foster says about reaching Snowdrift and Wonderland:

Reaching the lakes involves slogging through marshland and bushwhacking into stunted forest, then scrambling over rough talus fields to boulder-strewn granite benches.

In the off-season, I bought a new sleeping bag and repaired or replaced equipment due to the squirrel incident last year. I have not fully repaired the backpack – the damn squirrel ate a good amount of the webbing. I might still need to have the webbing repaired, but I’m not sure it’s necessary. I replaced the half-eaten poles with a pair of carbon fiber ones with cam-style locks.

Friday, July 28

I’m starting to get paranoid about how early I need to get to the trailhead in order to get parking. The campsite is seven miles from the trailhead, which is a fair distance, but you only climb 800′, and the trail has many extended sections that allow you to keep a long, steady stride, as if on a sidewalk. I figure three or three and a half hours is all it will take. There’s no point in getting to the trailhead at 7 am. Given an estimate of two and a half hours drive to the trailhead and three and a half hiking to camp, Gordon suggested he pick me up at 9. If we don’t get to park in the lot, we’ll have to add a quarter of a mile each way to the hike. My worries were needless: there was room for five or six more vehicles.

I haven’t hiked the North Inlet trail since the fire. But I have hiked through several recent burn scars so I had a pretty good idea of what to expect. What struck me this time was the scale of the fire. I hiked on the western fringes of the fire last summer. The extent of the East Troublesome fire east of the Divide is greater than either the Fern Lake fire or the Big Meadows fire. The area that East Troublesome burned east of the Divide is a tiny fraction of what East Troublesome burned in the Park. And the acreage burned in the Park is a tiny fraction of the total fire.

Wildfires are a natural part of the life cycle of the forest. But, historically, fires never burned such large areas. More than a century ago, we decided it would be a good thing to suppress wildfires. So we have a century’s worth of accumulated fuel piling up on the forest floors, and we have a lot of dead trees due to beetle kill.

The trail begins with a stretch of total devastation. I expect that trees next to lakes or streams will survive these fires. The trees along Fern Creek survived this fire, but even around the much larger North Inlet, the trees were burned. Without the forest, the terrain is revealed. Everything in sight is totally burned.

Totally burned: no trees survive. All the trunks are still standing. The fire only burns a couple of millimeters into the tree, not rendering it to ash but roasting it. The needles are gone as are many of the branches. Over the next thirty years, almost all of these dead tree trunks will fall. Deadfall accumulated prior to the fire burned in a similar way, but often with a thicker layer of charcoal.

Also totally burned: the cabin that was about twenty minutes up the trail from the parking lot. It was well-maintained and looked to see regular service. All that’s left now is the “Private Property: Stay on Trail” sign and the old hand pump for the water well.

Last year, near Fern Lake, fireweed was by far the most common living plant. Today, fireweed is still in abundance, but many of the rest of the cast of wildflowers are present as well. If you can stand a long walk in direct sunlight, this should be a great wildflower hike for many years.

Maybe an hour into the hike, we met a group on horseback heading back to the trailhead. I asked them how much farther until we get some shade. The guy I asked laughed. “Back at camp!” In fact, though, it wasn’t that much farther. The area around Cascade Falls didn’t burn too badly. The fire burned thoroughly on the bank opposite the trail, but nothing on the north side of the stream was burned. We took a break here in the shade of the trees and the spray of the falls and had lunch.

Above Cascade Falls, the trail reenters the burn scar. It’s not a long section, and the burn ends before Big Pool. Above Big Pool, there is still some burn, but it’s not totally burned. In places, it looks like the fire was on the ground rather than in the crowns of the trees. Deadfall is blackened, standing beetle kill trees are charred at the base, but many trees still live.

Porcupine campsite is about a quarter of a mile beyond Ptarmigan Creek and is on the opposite side of North Inlet as the trail. It is reached by crossing a long bridge made out of a tree trunk sawn flat. It bounces when you cross it and bounces oddly when two people are crossing it.

There are two sites here. We took the western one without even looking at the other one. The western one is very close to the bridge and only a few yards from the stream. After we were set up, I decided to find out whether we made the correct choice. The eastern camp is about a hundred paces from the bridge and not anywhere near water. Other than that, they were much the same, down to identical sawn-log benches. Due to our easy proximity to water, I think we made the right choice. That camp was unoccupied when I looked, and we never saw anybody cross the bridge. I’m surprised that a campsite went unused.

Total devastation
Charred trunk
Our camp
The stream and bridge
The other camp
Lone Doe

We had nice weather all afternoon. Clear skies above us, but threatening weather to our north. We got sprinkled on briefly. We met a group of four backpackers; we caught up to them and we ended up passing each other a couple of times. I passed them when it was starting to rain and they stopped to don their rain gear. I told them that I could guarantee it would stop raining if I went to the effort of putting my rain jacket on. Amusingly, it quit raining before I was out of their sight.

Our camp was visited by a lone doe. She seemed pretty habituated to people. She would come within feet of us or our gear until one of us made eye contact with her. Even then, she only retreated a few yards. She was browsing around our camp for fifteen or twenty minutes before she crossed the river.

The south side of the river near the camp was unburned, but just across the river, the fire had gone through on the ground. Looking across to the other side of the valley: charred deadfall, charred beetle kill, and still quite a few live trees.

Passing through the areas of total devastation we were unmolested by mosquitoes. At camp, though, it was another story. My third application of repellent was finally enough to get the little buggers to not land on me. They hovered persistently, though, much to my annoyance.

As it was getting dark, I asked Gordon what time sunset was. “Astronomical or civil?” I rephrased the question: When will we see our first star? Neither of us offered a guess, which turned out to be the correct answer. It was cloudy and we never saw any stars. I was awakened during the night by a short rain but otherwise slept well.

And what did I forget to pack? Just paper towels. Genae even asked if I had some, and I showed her a Ziploc bag with what turned out to be nothing but toilet paper. If this is my biggest problem, it’ll be a great trip.

Dutch Town 3

Posted on September 4, 2022 by Dave

Wednesday, August 31

We had a leisurely morning. As our hike out would only take three hours (or a bit less, perhaps), we weren’t in any particular hurry.

I told Gordon that it wasn’t a marmot that ate my stuff. He told me he was visited by a squirrel that was trying to get into his things. He managed to shoo it away. I wondered if I shooed it towards him, or he towards me, or both. Pesky squirrel. I really do hope it got a bad case of the runs.

When I was packing up, I noticed that he’d gone after my backpack, too. He ate the zipper pulls on two of the pockets and devoured about half the mesh. Surely this is a sign of malice rather than a desire for salt. I really don’t sweat all over the zipper pulls.

Squirrel Damage Assessment

I’ve been saying for years that, for every situation, there’s either a Star Trek quote or a Monty Python quote that is apt. I’m tempted here to use “That rabbit’s dynamite!” from the Holy Grail and substitute “squirrel” for “rabbit”. Instead, I’ll go back to World War II and BDA: Bomb Damage Assessment. While my antagonist squirrel may be as vicious as Monty Python’s Rabbit of Caerbannog, it never tried to decapitate me, even though it was well within range. In the aftermath of our encounter, I am left to assess the damage.

Tasty Poles?
Delicious Day Pack?
Mmm, Mmm, Good Mesh!

The poles are the type that you twist to tighten to the proper length. I’ve never been happy with them and would have preferred to get the ones that use a cam. I guess this is an opportunity to upgrade. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can find somebody to mend the packs.

The deeper question is: How do I prevent this from happening again (apart from never camping at Dutch Town)? My tent is too small to store all my belongings in it. I’d really rather not spray all my belongings with coyote piss or the like.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

There was at least one healthy doe that frequented the area around our camp. I spotted a doe five or six times. It may have been the same one every time, maybe there was more than one. She went by my tent that first night.

The air traffic was pretty annoying. Even in the wilderness, it’s everpresent. But here it was loud. They went right over us. I decided I should time them the night before. I noted the time of the next one: 7:09. Didn’t hear another plane for half an hour when a two-engine propellor plane went over. So at least they weren’t so bad at night. Then two came over at about 6 am that were really low, just to remind us they were still there.

Just as we left the Ditch, a pickup truck when by on the service road. Water Supply & Storage Company. Those guys have owned the Ditch since 1891. They operate a vast system of canals and reservoirs in the Poudre River valley.

Now that I know the route, I think it’s possible Lake of the Clouds is within my day hiking range. It would certainly be an easy hike with a single-night stay at Dutch Town. We were back to camp early enough we could have packed up and hiked out on Tuesday.

The mosquitoes were not nearly as bad as at Upper Ouzel Creek. I finally did apply some bug spray at one point, but I wouldn’t have been terribly upset had I forgotten to bring it.

We saw no other hikers until we got within a quarter mile of the Colorado River. I don’t doubt Foster’s word that that Lake of the Clouds is the most visited destination in the area. This indicates that, if you’re seeking solitude, the Never Summer Mountains are the place to go.

Dutch Town 2

Posted on September 3, 2022 by Dave

Tuesday, August 30

I awoke a bit after sunrise after a somewhat chilly night to clear blue skies. It looked to be another marvelous day in the Park.

The first thing I noticed was that my trek poles, which I had leaned up against a long, downed tree, had been knocked over. Maybe the deer (or whatever) that passed through last night knocked them over. On closer inspection, though, the grips of both poles had been munched on and the straps had been eaten completely. Did that passing deer eat my poles?

A few minutes later, we were greeted by a Park Service trail crew. They were here to make a few improvements to the campsite. The ranger in charge asked to see our permit while the crew stowed their shovels and axes not far from where Gordon and I put our bear canisters overnight.

Having established our right to be here, I started asking the ranger questions. How did you get here so early? “We drove along the Ditch from Poudre cabin, so we had a short hike.” What creature did this skull belong to? “I don’t know. Not an ungulate.” What do you suppose ate my trek poles? “Probably a marmot. They want the salt from your sweat.” Did this campsite use to be over there beyond the preservation area sign? “Yes. It was threatened by dead trees so we moved it here.”

Last evening I spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out what percentage of trees in the area have succumbed to pine beetles. After much study, it became clear to me that all the dead trees were the largest trees. I’d guess nine out of ten of the largest quartile or quintile of trees were dead but very few of the medium and small trees were. I couldn’t help but wonder if all beetle-kill was this way and I just never noticed it before, or if things were different in this area. So I asked the ranger.

While I was correct that these trees had been killed by beetles, they were from the spruce beetle, which is a cousin of the pine beetle. Spruce beetles go after the big trees first, those with trunk diameters greater than ten inches. The victims in this area have been dead for a while – none are brown, they’re all gray.

Before they worked on our campsite, they headed up to Lake of the Clouds. They said it would take them about an hour to get there from here, which is only a bit less than I’d guessed it might take us. They left and we finished our breakfasts and got ready for our hike.

I grabbed my day pack, which is the top part of my backpack. It has a compartment you unzip to reveal the shoulder straps for the day pack. I’d stored this in the atrium of my tent (the space between the tent and the rain cover). It sat all night about six inches from my head, where the rustling noises were last night. It turns out my marmot friend didn’t just dine on my trek poles but worked my day pack over pretty well. Each shoulder strap was half eaten through and much of the fabric at the top was thoroughly chewed up. I wasn’t hearing the breeze rustle my tent, I was hearing a rodent wrecking my stuff. I hope that marmot got a really bad case of diarrhea.

Luckily, it was still intact enough to get me through the day. I hoped. As long as I didn’t put too much weight in the pack.

Anyhow, lunch and water and GoPro in the mangled pack, using my now strapless and heavily gnawed trek poles, we headed up the trail to Lake of the Clouds.

The trail ends well before the lake, where it exits the forest and dumps the hiker on the shore of a sea of talus. To the south, to the north, and to the west, nothing but talus. I vaguely recall writing on this blog some time ago about a large amount of talus. Wherever that was, there is more talus here. (It isn’t only here – our campsite has a view of the north slope of Howard Mountain. It’s all talus. Except for some that looks like scree.)

The first thing I did, once we had the route to the lake in view, was to search for the work party. I found them, but not where I expected them to be. When I was here on my failed day-hike, I thought that if I hadn’t made my 45-minute wrong turn I’d have made it to the lake. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have made it because I surely wouldn’t have gone the correct way.

We worked our way across the talus between the end of the trail and the base of the slope we’d have to climb. That slope is talus. We worked our way up between a couple of growths of willow and over to a grassy ramp. Once on the ramp, the route of cairns was pretty easy to follow. There may be cairns in the talus we had to cross, but finding a cairn in a talus field is like finding a pile of rocks in a bigger pile of rocks.

The ramp is broken in the middle by another section of talus. Imagine that. Back on the ramp, following the cairns, we crossed the lake’s outlet stream and arrived atop the bench that holds the lake. It took us an hour and twenty minutes to get here from camp.

The slopes of Howard Mountain and Mount Cirrus rise steeply 1400′ above the lake. You guessed it: talus everywhere. The rocks these mountains are made of aren’t the giant granite slabs you see above Black Lake, for example. The rocks on Howard and Cirrus are fractured and full of cracks running in all directions. The freeze-thaw cycle undoubtedly keeps a significant amount of rock falling, endlessly adding to the piles of talus.

As is my wont, I chatted a bit with the members of the work crew. They were celebrating the end of the season (even though they’ll be working another month). The ranger in charge told me she has been doing this for eighteen years. She’s been just about everywhere in the Park but doesn’t visit very many summits. One of the guys will turn 30 in a couple of weeks. He decided that he’d take a dip in 30 lakes by then. Today he got his 23rd and he’s confident that he’ll get the remaining seven without too much difficulty. One day last week, he got six in one day: The Loch, Mills, Jewel, Black, Blue, and Green.

Gordon set off to circumnavigate the lake while I surveyed my surroundings. Looking out over the valley below, my metaphor likening the talus to a sea couldn’t be more apt. This sea of rock is arranged in what looks like storm-tossed waves. The troughs of the waves are lighter in color than the tops due to weathering.

I was surprised the lake was so green. Fluorescent green, nearly.

We stayed at the lake for a bit more than two hours. On the way down, we lost our chain of cairns a couple of times, forcing us to backtrack. And when we went looking for the terminus of the trail, we found we’d gone much too far to the north. Rather than backtracking across the talus, we worked our way back to the forest and followed a game trail back to the main trail.

Use the Grassy Ramp (photo from 2013)
Working our way up
A Cloud, Never Summer Peak, and Gordon
Lake of the Clouds
Lake of the Clouds
Lake of the Clouds
North Specimen, Specimen Mountian, South Specimen
A Sea of Talus
Campsite improvement: before
Campsite improvement: after
Today’s Beer

When we arrived at our campsite, the work crew had already left. They cut a long section out of the tree trunk I’d had my poles leaning on overnight. This expanded the area where one might want to pitch a tent. As I said earlier, I saw an axe and shovels. But they must have had a power saw and something to shred the tree trunk. To level the ground, they didn’t move any dirt around, they just spread a thick layer of shredded tree trunk. It looked like it might be comfy, but I wonder how well it’ll hold tent spikes and suspect it’ll retain a fair amount of water after a rain.

At ten minutes to four, I thought we were going to get a visitor. Pretty much wherever we sat at the campsite, we could see the main trail. I saw a lone hiker come up to the sign, look up at the campsite, then check his map. He had a full backpack – much more than he’d need for a day hike. My first thought was that maybe he had a permit for this site but showed up a day early. But after a short pause, he continued up the trail. If he was a day hiker, he was pretty late. As it takes more than an hour to reach the lake, he’d be looking at passing our site no sooner than 6 pm. We never did see him again, so my guess is he camped at Lake of the Clouds without a permit. I wonder how often that sort of thing happens.

When it came time to bed in for the night, I made sure to keep wearing my headlamp. If that pesky marmot made a return visit, I wanted to be able to scare him away without rummaging around for my light.

Sure enough, sometime around midnight, I heard a rustling noise. I turned the lamp on and found myself eyeball to beady little eyeball with… a squirrel! The little bastard was about four inches away from my face. The light didn’t scare him off – I had to hiss at him. We repeated this little ritual three or four more times before he finally gave up.

I take back all the bad things I was thinking about marmots.

Dutch Town 1

Posted on September 1, 2022 by Dave

Foster tells us that Lake of the Clouds is the “most highly visited destination in the Never Summer Mountains”. I don’t doubt her, but if it’s true it tells me just how few people visit any destination in the Never Summer Mountains. (She certainly includes only the mountain destinations and not those in the valley, like Lulu City.)

I tried to reach Lake of the Clouds quite a while ago as a day hike. I wasted some time with a navigation error and made it only to where the trail ends on the map. Since then, I’ve suspected it was out of my day hike range, and decided to give it the two-night treatment: hike to the campsite on day one, hit the lake (or lakes) on day two, and hike out on day three.

The trail is accessed from the Colorado River trailhead. I’ve never seen that lot full, so we could pick our own departure time without worrying about getting a place to park.

Monday, August 29

We had a leisurely 7 am departure from my house, traffic wasn’t horrible, and we put boots on the trail at 9:20.

The first section of trail goes due north from the parking lot for half a mile to a trail junction. Many hikers won’t go any farther than here, or hereabouts. There’s a bridge over the Colorado river a few yards from the junction. Most of those who don’t stop here will continue on toward Lulu City. To reach Lake of the Clouds (or our campsite, Dutch Town), you make the left turn and take the route less traveled.

After crossing the valley, the trail turns south to climb the lower flank of Red Mountain. The trail traverses a fairly steep slope and by the time it has gained about four hundred feet, the hiker is presented with a view of the trailhead parking lot. It surprises me how often a trail gains four hundred feet from a valley floor up to a bench. That happens here, and although there are no lakes on this bench, there are some wetlands.

Having gone a very short distance south of our starting point, the trail turns around and heads generally north until it comes out on the service road for the Grand Ditch. The Grand Ditch is a water diversion project that is capable of taking all the water on the east side of the Never Summer Range and putting it into Long Draw Reservoir, which feeds the Cache la Poudre River.

The trail continues along the ditch for nearly two miles. I’d say that there’s more water flowing in it than in the Colorado River just below us. The ditch is flowing opposite to the river, but we’re at about the midpoint of the ditch, so it’s not a bad approximation that where we crossed the river, there should be more than twice as much water in it. It’s indicative of the abuse the Colorado River gets that, in its first 15 or 20 miles, more than half its water has been rerouted.

From the start of the hike to a fair piece northward along the Ditch, traffic noise from Trail Ridge Road has been a constant companion. As we approach the end of our flat and level stroll on the service road, we’re about a mile north of the highway and turning west. The road noise fades away. Now we can easily hear the jet airliners passing overhead. The westbound ones are a bit north of us, but the eastbound fly directly overhead.

At the Lake of the Clouds trail junction with the Grand Ditch, there’s a sign that indicates Dutch Town is 1.3 miles distant, and Hitchens Gulch is .8 miles. I never did see any sign for the Hitchens Gulch campsite, going or coming, so I suspect it’s no longer in use. I also suspect the miles are inflated a bit. I reckon it’s more like .7 to Dutch Town. It took us thirty minutes to get from the Ditch to the campsite. That’s a five-hundred-foot gain, so I think 1.4 miles per hour is much more reasonable than the 2.6 miles per hour required by the sign.

It took us three hours of hiking to make the trip. Add some time for our break at the base of the Lake of the Clouds trail. Since we crossed the Colorado River, we had encountered only three other people. They had camped at Valley View, very close to where the trail first reached the Ditch. There was nobody at our site, which surprised me. If I could have gotten a Sunday/Monday instead of our Monday/Tuesday, I would have. Either the previous occupants of Dutch Town made it to the trailhead before we left, or they hiked to another campsite. Or, possibly, they canceled. No matter.

The Mighty Colorado River
At the Ditch
Mystery Skull
Today’s beer

Some previous occupant of the campsite left us a present: a somewhat chewed-up skull. I have no idea what sort of creature it belonged to. It’s just the skull; no mandible, and it’s not obvious where the mandible would attach. The brain would be a bit smaller than my fist.

I’ll admit that I’m a bit spoiled backpacking in the Park, given the generally outstanding trails and campsites. That said, I’ve only camped in about half a dozen established campsites in the Park. This one is a bit different than the others I’ve been to. First, it’s very close to the trail and my tent is clearly visible from the trail even before reaching the sign and spur trail. Second, it’s not ideal for water. Sitting at the campsite, the stream is audible. But what can be heard is water flowing under some talus. Just upstream, the stream is very wide, very shallow, and flows slowly. Here, the streambed is a soft mud that is easily disturbed. I use a SteriPen rather than a filter and it was impossible to get any water without a bit of sediment. It is necessary to go quite a way upstream to avoid the sediment.

A few yards from the level spots at the site, there’s a sign saying “Restoration Area: Stay Off”. I believe the site was located by this sign in years past. Here, tents wouldn’t be visible from the trail. The difference in location wouldn’t have made much difference as to water, though.

On my last backpacking trip, I brought the critter cam. The only critter it spotted was me. I probably should bring it every trip, but I figured I didn’t want to carry the extra weight. I should have brought it.

At about 10:30 I was awakened by something moving through the campsite. It sounded like a large quadruped. I’ve had moose go past my tent. It wasn’t exactly a quiet animal. This one was quiet, so I guessed it was either an elk or a deer. It didn’t linger and was quickly out of earshot.

Later, I heard my tent rustling. It sounded like the rain cover was being disturbed by a slight breeze. I didn’t give it much thought at the time. But things are not always what they seem.

Hike Segment Data

Start	End	Distance (Miles)	Slope (Ft/Mile)	Elapsed Time	Miles per Hour
Trailhead	Red Mtn trail jct	0.5	12	:12	2.5
Red Mtn trail jct	Grand Ditch	2.8	425	1:33	1.8
Grand Ditch	Lake of the Clouds trail jct	1.9	-8	:40	2.9
Lake of the Clouds trail jct	Campsite	0.7	714	:30	1.4
Trailhead	Campsite	5.9	286	2:55	2.0

Distance and Slope are approximate

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