Our hiking plans started out innocently enough. We were going to Boulder to see our son’s thesis performance. We had 3 full days with only one show. Some hiking seemed in order. Would keep the near-elderly out of trouble.

We knew Boulder well, but that was decades ago. As I recalled, there were some nice trails that started within the Boulder city limits. A bit out of town, the drama increased with the elevation.

At breakfast on our first morning in Boulder, I had my “insight.” We should just go for it.

Rocky Mountain National Park (RMNP) was less than an hours drive. We could just mosey on up and take it from there.

The drive was great. I think I enjoyed every minute. Sharon was wondering what was wrong with me. As I recall she said something rather dry and a bit sarcastic about me and scenic drives.

The ranger at the RMNP visitor’s center was encouraging and helpful. Said we should head off to Bear Lake, hike up to Mill’s Lake, cut over to Lake Haiyaha and then loop back to Bear Lake- 4 to 5 hours on the trail. As it was “only” 11:00 AM there was “plenty of time.”

Sounded like a plan. He gave us a nice map and off we went.

On the trail, our first stop was Alberta Falls. I seem to have lost the pic of Sharon smiling next to the sign.

She is amused because the falls looked like falls, they just weren’t falling– they were frozen solid.

That day, the temperature was unseasonably warm for October- 50 ° F. A few days earlier it had been 20 ° F.

A woman at our Boulder B&B said she had been snowed out a couple of days earlier at Bear Lake, our trailhead.

We liked our B&B. Somewhat unique in that it is owned and run by a Zen Monk. As he put it, “In a monastery, you cook, clean and try to be nice to people. This is the kind of the same thing.” with the added bonus of a young female staff.

Kind of a perfect fit. At least for him.

We felt right at home. As lapsed Buddhists, the zendo tugged, but that will have to wait for another time.

Back on the trail, It only took us about an hour to reach Mills Lake at 9,940 feet above sea level.

The 2 1/2 miles wound through spruce and fir woodlands with granite outcroppings. The 1000 foot climb was just enough to break a sweat.

Mills Lake is a real charmer. Considered by many to be one of the prettiest lakes in the park.  The setting is indeed most picturesque-  at least on sunny warm days in late October.

The trail continued by Mill’s Lake and on to Black Lake. That one was going to have to wait. We had other fish to fry. After a short backtrack, we headed over to Lake Haiyaha. The trail was “unmaintained” and in many stretches we would have lost our way if others hadn’t been through recently, and left footprints in the snow.

Can’t speak for Sharon, but I was dragging when we finally reached Lake Haiyaha. The adrenaline rush was long gone. Almost 3 hours of hiking at almost 10,000 feet had taken its toll. Maybe its true that I’m not as young as I used to be.

Nah.

Once back at the trailhead, energy returned. On the way out the park, we stopped once again at the Visitor’s Center. Knocked one off. Might be time to up the ante for the next day.

Perhaps not the most prudent strategy., but who was I to see that.

Staff at the desk had rolled over. A nice retired couple held the fort. Originally from Virginia, these Park volunteers now lived in Estes Park, the town right outside the National Park. Really nice folks.

I explained our interests and our abilities. Their recommendation was Chasm Lake.

I can still hear him, “Don’t forget the last few hundred feet are a boulder scramble. Its worth the effort.” Then he turned around and pointed to this old-time original oil painting. “That will be your reward.” As I recall- a picture of pretty, little, innocent-looking lake.

Our second day of hiking started out pleasantly enough.

The trail began at an elevation of 9400 feet. There was sign-in and sign-out book at the trailhead. We signed in. Winds had picked up ominously. There was more ice and snow. And there was a warning sign:

“Pay attention. On This Trail Lightning Kills Hikers — Just like You — and with Some Regularity.”

No families or kids shared the trail. A much harder and younger crowd made up our fellowship.

I pretty much ignored all this. After all we weren’t going all the way to Long’s Peak. Our climb was “only” 2400 feet.

Sharon was really edgy. She’s smarter than I am.

After about 45 minutes of hiking, a couple of guys- late 20s/ early 30s- passed us.

Commenting on their gear- ice axes, crampons etc- Sharon made nice with, “So you guys going climbing?”

Her reward was a curt and sarcastic, “Why would you think that?”

Curiously shortly thereafter, we passed them taking a trail-side break. Conversation warmed up a tad.

Soon they steamed on by us. Thought this would be the last time we’d see them.

Not so. Next time we passed them on another break, they were friendlier. We exchanged jokes.

After a few minutes they once again powered by. Trees got smaller and more gnarled as Sharon and I approached timberline and the winds picked up another notch. After about 3 miles in, no more trees. Above tree line,  we found ourselves in a broad rock-strewn basin.

Wind was becoming a real issue here. Would guess gusts were hitting 80+ mph. At times it was hard to simply stand. Now Sharon’s anxiety had given way to sheer orneriness. When gusts were just  too much, we would crouch down or lean on the back side of boulders.. When the wind would let up we’d put our heads down and toil upwards.

Guess who we met in this wind-gusted boulder field – coming back down? Our technical climbing gear buddies. As they passed us in full retreat, they muttered sheepishly, “We got tired of fighting this wind.”

Yeah, tell me about it.

At this stage, I was thinking in several hundred foot increments. No need to turn back yet. If we can just get to “there,” then we could turn back. When we’d get “there,” I’d re-calibrate and pick out a new goal.

I suppose I neglected to share this internal monologue with Sharon, who was really getting blown around. At 165 lbs, I had 50+ lbs on her and I was having troubles. A couple of times when gusts hit us, I grabbed a bunch of Sharon’s jacket in the middle of her back, and pulled her down with me, so she wouldn’t simply be blown away.

A solo hiker heading back down, gave us hope. He said that if we could just reach the saddle up ahead, the winds would die down.  He was right. After a well deserved snack break, we looked around and as our guide book put it, “the view … is literally almost too beautiful to describe.” Yep.

Next stop was the Park service hut used to house rescue supplies.

The adjacent outhouse offers a 360° view as it is topless; and privacy, as it is raised.

There were a dozen or so steel stakes and guy wires to keep it upright.

And yes that’s Sharon’s head above the door.

Now all that was left was the few hundred feet of boulder scramble.

The scene bore no resemblance to that picturesque painting in the Visitor’s Center nor to the image I saw in my mind’s eye as the ranger waxed poetic.

I left Sharon about a third of the way up the boulder scramble, on a small rock outcropping in the middle of a steep slope surrounded by solid ice, and loose rocks. Technical climbing gear would have been in order, if we had any.

Against my better judgement, I worked my way on up. Heck after what we’d been through, I at least, “Wanted to see Chasm Lake.”

Potentially classic famous last thoughts.

On the most dicey move, I remember calculating that I would only slide 5 feet into a rock wall, which limited the downside, so at least I wouldn’t die. Now there’s some 6th grade logic. The handhold held true, which was a very very good thing.

In the last stretch before the lake, I met two brothers who had made the climb, and had been looking for an alternate way down. No luck. They were forced back down the route I had just come up. I asked them to tell Sharon I was OK and that I thought it prudent for her to simply retreat to safer ground, which they did and which she did.

When I reached Chasm Lake at 11,760 feet, it looked like a very little lake in a very big and powerful place. I felt far far smaller yet.

Probably the moral of this story.

Back below the boulder field , we ran into a Korean guy:

“This place is just like the base camp for Mt. Everest.” 

Light was intense. Winds were whipping. Ice crystals blown off cliff faces above refracted colors. A bit of the edge of the world- as we know it.

What really got me was the potato chip bag. We bought chips in Boulder which is about a mile above sea level. When I pulled them out of the pack at almost twice that elevation, the bag looked ready to explode. It was blown-up like a balloon ready to burst.

I felt OK-ish. Sharon felt OK-ish. But if the potato chip bag was doing that, how were our bodies coping? In hindsight I still wonder.

And then it occurred to me, we not only had to get back before dark, but that tonight was our son’s thesis performance.

The running joke on the way back down was my optimism. I was sure we were only minutes away from the trailhead for the last 40 minutes before we signed out.

When we walked into the kitchen at the B&B a bit after 6:00 PM, I found my Mom and B&B staff getting ready to put out an all-bulletins alert.

Apparently I had neglected to share the details of our day planning.

Mom was most gracious in being happy to see us.

With a few minutes to spare we all arrived at the performance.

As we were settling into our seats, Sharon, muttered underneath her breath:

“We’re using up our nine lives.”