Going the Extra Few Miles

Carefree. I started my hike in the early afternoon, with intentions to only go a couple of miles to a waterfall and back. Rocky Mountain National Park in early summer is awesome: not too hot, not too cold, and still not a whole lot of people on the trails. Unfortunately, the trail to Alberta Falls from Bear Lake was a short, easy walk only about 3 miles round trip, with the energetic white waterfalls as the destination, which meant that the trail actually did have quite a bit of traffic on it, more than I was used to. Even after my potentially disastrous summit of Flattop Mountain the day before, I was eager to be on the trails again, even if it meant I had to give up my solitude and be around people.

Don't you just love Aspens?

I got to the falls, and had to fight my way closer to the edge of the creek just to look at the water, though I could hear it from a ways off. I always love waterfalls, but I do not love the crowds of people they seem to attract. I snapped a few pictures, scrambling around the bare rocks to get a picture that didn't include ten other people in it, then gave up. I turned to head back to my car and call it an early day, then noticed the sign pointing up the trail farther, to Mills Lake, and beyond. It looked inviting, diving straight back into the evergreens and up, out of sight. Best of all, none of the 30 or so people at the falls seemed to be giving this part of the trail a second glance. Sure, what the hell. I had nothing else to do. It took all of five minutes, and I was alone. I couldn't hear any evidence of the crowd at the falls, no footsteps coming toward me or following me. My type of trail. I followed the meandering trail as it took me through the sub alpine forests, to trickles of water with log bridges flung across them, past groves of aspens that had just leafed again, until it delved once again into the evergreens. Once in a while the trail would open up onto flat outcroppings of rock, providing views of the mountains that I'm sure a majority of the people who visit the park never experience.

Alberta Falls

Once or twice a hiking pair came down the trail towards me, and we exchanged the pleasantries of the trail. That was it. I strolled on, in no hurry to get anywhere, not even sure how far it was to Mills Lake, and I wasn't bothered. I would get there if I got there, and would turn around if I wanted. Once I was passed by a couple of Rangers, both of whom stopped and warned me of a rain (or possibly snow) shower that was on it's way down the valley from the top of the glacier. After they made sure I was prepared for both rain and snow (I was), they suggested I not go to Andrew's Glacier because of the distance, especially because I wasn't planning on spending a night out there, but just about everywhere else was within my reach. I thanked them for the weather report and advice, and continued on, rounding a bend and almost literally stumbling on to what became my favorite part of the whole hike: a few hundred feet where the trail followed a bare patch of scree, the evidence of past rock slides down the massive mountain side. It's exposed, and a slip at the wrong time would likely leave you with a sprained ankle and three plus miles to hike back out. Of course, this was the only time on the entire trip that I thought about the possibility of bears, and how much it would suck to walk into one on the single part of the trail where I would have no where to go. However, I must confess that I really, really wanted to see one. While hiking. Out in the back country of the mountains.

Next to Mills Lake

With no one else around. Alas, no such luck. But the views! Over the treetops the path of the valley became clear, winding back and away with the head of the valley and the glacier still miles away. And I still didn't know how far it was to the lake. Sure, there were trail markers telling the distances, but I didn't care how far it was. I was just walking because I could. It was with a bit of surprise, then, that I came around yet another bend in the trail and found the creek I was following widening into a lake tucked against the sheer side of the mountain opposite me. I could see ribbons of silver water glinting in the sun as they fell from snow fields higher up to feed the lake at my feet. I moved along the shore up the lake, stopping occasionally to take in the views and the quiet and the solitude. There weren't many others at the lake, and those that were there started to pack up and move down the trail once the clouds moved in and threatened rain. I kept going, curiosity driving me upstream, wanting to know what lay beyond. I made it to the next lake, Jewel Lake, a smaller lake on the chain of lakes threaded by the stream that runs through them all, before the clouds convinced me that my curiosity would have to wait until another day. After a brief pause for a snack, I headed back, still taking my time but stopping less often. The wind came up behind me and hurried me along, making me very glad I had my wind resistant jacket with me. I passed only a couple of people going towards the lakes, each of them muttering about the weather and hoping the rain would hold off just a bit longer.

Mills Lake

I reached the falls faster than I expected to, and from there made short work of the trail to Bear Lake. I stopped at the ranger station, curious to know how far I had gone on my casual hike. Imagine my surprise when the ranger told me I had just decided to hike 7.6 miles on a whim. Well, whaddya know? As I drove the (fantastic) road down the mountain towards camp I looked back, then quickly pulled over and got out, camera in hand. The mountains and valley I had just hiked out of were in the grips of a snow storm, and I had somehow managed to beat it. Sometimes, lack of proper planning works out, though I don't think I'll be going for a long hike on a whim again. At least, not without a weather report.

Jewel Lake

What I'm listening to: We Swarm by The Glitch Mob