The Arch and The Grotto

Revived. We wandered down the wooded path, over leaf litter and soft dirt, our breath rising like smoke as we pushed forward on the early fall morning. Callie and I were the only ones on the trail and had started at dawn, rising early, taking down our tent, and hitting the trail before most other campers were stirring in their sleeping bags. I wanted to get going first thing and hopefully get a few miles under our feet before we had to return to reality for the upcoming week, so pushed us a little faster than I would normally have done that early in the morning. Callie didn't seem to mind. We were hiking Seven Hollows Trail in Petit Jean State Park, where we had hiked to Cedar Falls the previous day, and only had half the day to spend before we had to return home.

We came to a fork in the trail, and I hesitated. I thought I remembered the trail being a loop, but didn't have a map on me to confirm (bad, I know). One sign pointed to a natural bridge and the other to The Grotto, so I figured if anything else I'd backtrack, and headed to the bridge first. The trail almost immediately started heading down, until we were walking along the bottom of a forest canyon. Small caves dotted the sandstone cliffs surrounding us, and more than once Callie veered off along a small side trail to go explore; I didn't correct her, I wanted to go check them out myself! Soon we were walking along a small creek, first next to it then above, always returning while we followed the canyon along its length. About a mile and a half in we reached the natural bridge, chiseled into the dark grey sandstone no doubt by the creek that now flowed around it. We explored for a bit, climbing on the rocks and in Callie's case sniffing the countless other scents of dogs and people who had come before us. One of the perks of rising early, and hitting the trail early, is the distinct lack of people. We had the whole arch, the whole trail, to ourselves, but I'm willing to bet we would have had to share if we'd come an hour later. I was able to let Callie explore off-leash, unhindered by the courtesy of hiking with dogs around people who might not be dog friendly.

We took our time at the arch, but were soon on our way again. I could have turned back, as I was unsure of whether or not the arch was a spur or part of the loop, but I decided to keep going and see what happened. Not far beyond the arch we crossed the creek and climbed the soft sandstone up and out of the canyon. Almost before I realized it, we were on a bluff overlooking the forest canyon below, surrounded by funny little mounds of stone affectionately called "Turtle Rocks," weathered into patterns like the shell of the reptile. Not far from the rocks we descended into another canyon, and here I received the confirmation I was looking for: a sign on the trail pointed down a short spur to The Grotto. I was on a loop!

The Grotto is a large sandstone alcove, reminiscent of the alcoves in the red rock sandstone of the desert Southwest, A small stream cascades over the upper lip of it, probably full of life after a good rain but on this trip it was only a trickle. The stream feeds a small pool of water, which undercuts the sandstone further until it runs out to join the other streams and rivers in the park. Callie and I spent a while exploring, checking out the prints in the mud of other visitors, such as raccoons, dogs, and other people. She really, really wanted to go swimming, but I didn't fancy cleaning up a muddy dog, so kept her out of the water.

From The Grotto we ascended again before diving right back into the third and final canyon of the hike. This one we walked the length of, weaving between the trees and overhanging cliffs, poking around more caves and otherwise just enjoying the fall morning. One couple with their dog passed us going the opposite direction, and that was it for our people encounters. The woods were quiet, though we could occasionally hear a creek babbling under the leaves. We reached the trailhead again just as the day began to warm up, and I was happy to call it a day. It was a nice little escape, and I went back to civilization ready to give it another go.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: In Someone Else's Coat

You all know by now that I'm essentially a tree-hugging, Leave No Trace advocate who refuses to allow an animal to be harmed, although I do see the need for hunting of certain species to control populations and have nothing against those who partake, unless they only hunt "for sport" and don't eat or make use of the animal they hunt, in which case I have my own opinions regarding the morals of people like that. Anyway, even though I generally don't wear furs or skins of animals, when I had the chance to try on a $5000 coat made out of bison pelts while surrounded by the buildings of a historic dude ranch located in Rocky Mountain National Park this summer, I jumped at the opportunity. My imagination went into overdrive, and I thought about way back when, before the park was established, those homesteaders who carved a life out of the high mountain meadows and braved the harsh, long winters. They probably wore coats like this, especially those who had to work outside every day caring for cattle, horses, and the other duties of a ranch. I don't know that that would have been the life for me. Of course, on a hot summer's day the coat was sweltering and I was only in it long enough to have Torrey snap a picture of me, but trying it on was something I'm glad I did. It was a good way to put myself in the shoes (and coat) of those who came before.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about an item of clothing that made you think about the history and stories of those who wore it before you.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Edge of the World

Want to know the beauty of Andrew's Tarn? It lies right on the edge between the earth and the sky. Torrey and I had finally reached our destination and after a short rest we wandered around the edge of the tarn, watching pikas and marmots waddle around the rocky shore, staring at the milky greenish-blue color of the water, wanting to touch the glacier and otherwise congratulating ourselves for a job well done. What we didn't realize at first, was that the tarn was practically hanging on the edge. Once about halfway along the shore between the first edge we came to and the glacier, we looked back and were greeted by this illusion; if we hadn't just hiked up from that direction we would have thought that the mountain just ended right there with nothing but the sky beyond it. It was absolutely stunning, and I took more than my fair share of photographs of it. I can't wait to go back and see the edge of the world again.

Leave me a comment below and tell me what you think; doesn't this look like the edge??

Attention-Seeking at Cedar Falls

Famous. Callie and I had arrived at Petit Jean State Park, Arkansas's first state park, earlier that morning and had spent part of the day driving the roads and getting to know the area. We had hiked a couple of short trails, more to stretch our legs than anything, and to try to get our minds into a hiking mentality. Our big goal of the day was to hike to Cedar Falls, the tallest waterfall in the park along of one of its most strenuous trails. I had to fight for a parking spot, both because the trail was popular despite its strenuous rating and because the trailhead is located at the park's lodge, which was already bustling with people. When we finally got to the trailhead, we went right for it without slowing to read the signs and hardly registering the warning signs about the hike being strenuous, not to hike it in the heat of the day, and to not attempt it during a thunderstorm. I was confident Callie and I could handle the terrain, it was the first day of October and the "heat of the day" was about 75 degrees, and there wasn't a cloud in sight. I think Callie was just as eager to hike as I was, and she led the way (on leash) down the embankment as the trail dove over the edge of the two hundred foot bluff towards the canyon floor.

We were flying; we moved past other hikers as they came up or headed down the trail, jumping on rocks to give the slower moving people the trail as we maintained a pace that surprised me. Callie didn't even stop to sniff at the other dogs as they panted at her, looking for a break and probably not used to the exertion of climbing up or down the steep bluff trail just like their human counterparts. She barely spared them a glance, intent on the trail in front of her nose. We were delayed briefly by any child who stood directly in our path, demanding to pet the "puppy." Callie was more gracious about it than I was, though I could tell she wanted to keep moving as much as I did. The only time on the trail that Callie paused at was a single-person footbridge over Cedar Creek, where you could see through the metal grate into the water below. She wasn't too sure about being able to see below her own feet but followed me over the bridge without complaint.

The trail widened out as we hit the canyon floor and followed the creek upstream towards the falls, and Callie set the pace at a near-run as we continued to move around groups of other hikers. I have to admit, I had expected the "strenuous" rating of the trail to scare people off, but was surprised at how many families were hiking it. To be fair, I would put the trail more at a "moderate," with the steepness of the bluff at the beginning and end of the trail as the most difficult part. The trail was well maintained, and flatened out along the canyon floor, making for either a leisurely walk or a good trail-running route. Callie and I followed the creek up, and soon the babble of chatter floated back to us and we knew we were nearing the falls.

A jumble of boulders marked the edge of the pool, and we picked our way right to the edge of the water. I sat myself on a rock that had a flat place, then rose up to a crest before it slid smoothly into the water on the other side. Callie explored as best she could while on leash, and before too long she discovered she could use the rock as a slide. She did this several times, sliding almost all the way to the water before scrambling back up to the crest and sliding back down again. I was giggling to myself as I watched her, knowing she was having a blast but really, really wanted to go for a swim. There were a lot of people around, and I didn't want her to take off into the water and get out somewhere where she wasn't wanted. As I was giggling to myself, holding my internal debate as to whether or not I should just let her swim, I heard an older couple seated not too far from me start cracking up, clearly laughing at Callie's antics. We struck up a conversation, and the gentleman said they don't mind if she comes over for a visit, and to let her swim. That was all it took to convince me, and I pulled off her leash. She was so excited! She skidded around on the rock, jumped onto the crest, lay down on her belly and slid right into the chilly water!

It didn't take very long for the rest of the people around the edge of the pool to notice the little white dog swimming, and soon they were throwing sticks and leaves into the water for her to chase. She entertained everyone for quite a while, diving and paddling almost to the middle of the pool before turning around to check in with me. Everyone got a kick out of her going for a branch bigger than her that floated in the water, and attempting to drag it back for me to throw. After a while, when she had swam to her heart's content, she came back to me and climbed onto the slippery rock. She made it as far as the crest before she shook herself off, and promptly slid back into the pool to another course of laughter from the surrounding crowd. I ended up having to lay flat and get the leash on her to help her out of the water, and when she had shaken herself dry for a second time, we left.

Instead of going straight back up the cliff, we meandered downstream a ways toward another destination, the Blue Hole. We also managed to leave the crowds behind, and I was able to let Callie off leash for a bit. She ran in and out of the creek as we walked, sometimes on trail with me and sometimes splashing through the shallow water, chasing sticks the swirled on the current. We never reached Blue Hole, instead walking as far as we felt like and turning around when it started getting towards evening. As we went, I put Callie back on leash as we started encountering more people, all of whom recognized her as the little white dog who went swimming. We fell back into our quick pace, and soon were over the metal footbridge and on our way up the bluff, passing by hikers going up and those still coming down. We managed the ascent in less than fifteen minutes, but were followed all the way up by comments like "that's the dog who was swimming at the falls!" And it didn't stop when we finished the trail. Back at the campground Callie was recognized, and we had people coming up to us and commenting on how cute she was, and how good of a swimmer she was, and how well she listened to me when I called her ("because there is no way I'd let my dog do that, he'd be gone!") Despite me wanting a quiet escape in nature for a weekend, because of my choice to let Callie do what she loves led us to being instantly recognizable. And you know what? That's ok. Sometimes, attention is fun.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: I Hiked That?!

Have you ever been on a trail, looked over your shoulder, and thought to yourself "I just hiked that?!" I have. You don't get views like this by hiking trails that are easy. Or short, for that matter. Torrey and I had hiked out of those trees and began scambling, following a line of carins that marked the "trail" over the loose scree boulder fields up to our destination: Andrew's Glacier. We'd come a long way, and still had a long way to go. I'm pretty sure the last half-mile took us an hour to cover, but we had our well deserved reward once we got to the top. If nothing else, the view was stunning.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about the most scenic hike you've ever taken. I want to know where I should go next!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Warm Fuzzies

I have a thing for cute, fuzzy little rodents. I absolutely love it whenever I see one of these little guys on the trail, and it makes my day when they become curious enough to venture over to say hello. I would never feed one, because a wild animal should remain wild, but when they have just enough courage too scamper over and climb on my trekking poles or sniff around at my boots it makes me happy. Hello little guy!!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about wildlife that you enjoy seeing most.

A Sand Ramp, a Hang Bag, and a Little Blood

Contemplative. Our second night in the backcountry started off in a convenience store, where we picked up ramen noodles and a length of rope. For some reason (probably because I've never needed it before) rope was one of the few things missing from my extensive stash of camping gear, and the ramen noodles were a nod to our childhood memories. Torrey and I had hiked out of the dunes where we camped the night before, made a run to the closest place we could find rope and noodles, and headed back to the trailhead. We weren't in any sort of hurry, and enjoyed our noodles before swinging our packs onto our backs and setting off up the road. The trail to the preserve part of Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve runs across what is known as a sand ramp, a layer of sandy soil that lays between the dune field that can't support a lot of plant life and the mountains that house the majority of it. The sand ramp boasts green and yellow fields of prairie and desert plants, and trees start popping up the closer you get to the mountains. We technically needed to take the Sand Ramp Trail across the fields to reach our backcountry campsite, but knew we could walk along the 4-wheel drive road to the point where the trail crosses it, and catch the trail to our campsite from there. We figured the road would be a little more packed down and easier to walk on than the sand trail, which sees significantly less traffic and would exhaust us more. So up the road we went.

Even walking on the road wasn't easy, especially with a pack loaded with everything you need for an overnight miles away from civilization. We hiked more slowly than normal, both because we were slowed due to the soft sand and because we weren't really in a hurry. We had started mid-afternoon and only had 4.5 miles to go, so we really had all day. We kept an eye on the mountains, where the thunderstorms would start building, and an ear out for the sound of vehicles behind and before us as we hikes along the one-lane road. The mountains must have decided they had received enough rain over the past few days, and even though some clouds began to billow up, they never left the tops of the range. Trucks and SUVs passed us by occasionally, but we always had warning and stood off to the side to let them pass before we continued on. Eventually we came to a creek and pulled off our shoes to get across it. A couple of guys on dirt bikes who had passed us earlier were pulled off to the side near the creek, trying to get service on their phones. They called out to us as we approached, asking if we knew what the road was called and explaining that they couldn't get gps up to figure it out. I pulled out my map and showed them where we were, and told them what I remembered about the mountain road that climbs through the pass in the Sangre de Christo Mountains before us. They thanked us and turned around, apparently on the wrong road. Torrey and I crossed the icy creek slowly, careful not to slip over the slick rocks and sandy dips, before reaching the sand road on the other side and continuing on.

We didn't have to walk much farther on the road, and almost before we knew it we spotted the sign marking the place where the Sand Ramp Trail leaves the road and cuts deep into the preserve. We stopped there, wiping the sand off of our feet and putting our shoes back on in preparation for the steep hike before us. Until that point I had spent all week at significantly higher and drier elevations than what I'm used to from living in east Texas, and I had actually done really well. You might remember my story from last year's white water rafting trip about getting bloody noses a lot, for a time when I was younger, and they came back to plague me when I moved to Texas. Well, I had been doing great. I hadn't had a bloody nose in months, and hadn't had to deal with any all week in Colorado. That is, until I reached the trailhead to our final campsite and bent down to put my shoes on. I felt it coming and had about two seconds to slap my hand to my face before I started bleeding everywhere. I'm pretty sure I scared Torrey as I swore loudly and frantically asked for a tissue or anything. Since I'm me and I'm always prepared, I carry tissues in my pack and was able to have Torrey dig them out for me while I pinched my nose. Holy crap, it was a bad one. I'm pretty sure I bled for five minutes and soaked through countless tissues, which I carefully wrapped up in the plastic pocket of the empty tissue pack and stowed in my hipbelt. When it finally stopped, I had to use some of our precious water to wash my face, and had to ask Torrey to check me to make sure I didn't miss any blood.

Unfortunately, my bloody noses make me not feel very good for the first few minutes directly after, but we needed to hike on and still had about a mile to go over the soft sand trail, so I sucked it up and started walking. I was pretty quiet after that, trying to focus on the trail and not on how light-headed and slightly dizzy I was. The last mile dragged on forever, and it was with no small amount of relief that we finally reached the turnoff for our campsite. I immediately sat down on a log and just rested, drinking water and snacking on almonds until I felt better. Then we got to work and set the tent up, sorted our supplies and dinner, and made ready for a night in the wild. In the preserve you are required to either use a bear canister or hang your smellies, and since I don't have a bear canister (yet) we got rope and used the tent bag as our hang bag. I've never camped in a backcountry area with such a high population of bears, so I've never had to use a hang bag before, but it was kind of fun getting the rope over a branch so we could hang our food and trash nine feet up and five feet out. Plus, you know, we had the possiblity of seeing a bear! Once everything was in place we settled back in the tent and relaxed for a bit until we got hungry, then made dinner and explored our surroundings a little bit. We were treated to a gorgeous moonrise again, and spent a while walking in circles around our campsite just to see what we could find (and secretly looking for bear tracks, but we didn't find any.) We climbed back in to the tent at dusk, and called it a night. I can't speak for Torrey, but I slept soundly the entire night and didn't hear a single noise, not even coyotes or owls.

The next morning, when we were to head out of the park and go back to civilization on the Front Range in Manitou Springs, we were up at dawn and packing, preparing to hike out the way we hiked in. We reached the road and hiked up it for a while, until we heard the sound of a car approaching from behind. We stepped to the side and the driver, a NPS Ranger, stopped to chat with us and ended up offering us a ride back to our car. We gladly accepted, and I got to enjoy driving along a road that I can't wait to be able to drive myself. We chatted with the ranger, and he told us about how he does this job seasonally and is a ski guide during the winter. We talked about some of the other trails in the park, like the ones up the mountains to the headwaters of Medano Creek, and just made small talk as we rode the two miles back to our car. He dropped us off and wished us a good day and a fun trip, and went on his way. Torrey and I loaded up and followed after him, wishing ourselves that we didn't have to leave the dunes yet. Some day soon I want to spend an entire week backpacking there. Who wants to go with me?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Walk in the Park

I find myself saying "this is my favorite spot" a lot. Like, a lot. To the point where I recognize I need to stop telling people one spot in a park is my favorite, because they're all my favorite spots. Rocky Mountain National Park is an amazing place filled with all sorts of views that make you say "wow" while you pick your jaw up off the ground, but there are a few places within the park that are extra special. Moraine Park, pictured above, is one such place. What with the lush meadow grasses, the cold and swift mountain stream, and a ring of snowcapped mountains surrounding the valley, what's not to love? One could spend hours here just wandering the little trails that meander along the creek, watching little trout dart around, listening to the wind, feeling the sun on your skin. I make a point to visit this place every time I enter the park, and it's usually my first stop. I've had the privlege of visiting in all four seasons, and I can't pick a favorite. Guess I'll have to go back again!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about your favorite spot in a park, in the city, or anywhere else!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Perks of Rising Early

Everyone who knows me knows I'm a morning person. I will happily be up at the crack of dawn, or before, to start an adventure, and am often found to have set my alarm at unspeakable times just to be the first person on a trail. While I think this mentality pays off every time, night owls tend to disagree with me. On my recent adventure in the mountains, however, being the first ones on the trail definitely had its rewards. This is Alberta Falls in Rocky Mountain National Park, and seeing it completely devoid of other hikers is nearly unheard of (unless you go in the middle of winter, when all you'll see is a snowed-under block of ice.) This August, at the height of tourist season, my friend and I were the first ones on a trail that would take us far into the backcountry, but we had to pass through tourist-heavy trails first. Hiking those trails before most people were even awake assured us a solitary hike, and we got the falls all to ourselves.

Take the Chance

Resolved. When you see an opportunity, you just have to go for it. That's been my MO lately, especially within the last two years of travel. If you get the chance to go, go. Torrey and I were waiting for that chance halfway through our week-long adventure in Colorado, when we found ourselves sitting in my car at the trailhead waiting out a thunderstorm. We had arrived at Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve in the early afternoon, just in time to grab a two day backpacking permit, snap a few photos of the storm rolling in over the mountains, drive to the trailhead, and hurry up and wait it out. Thunderstorms are not something you mess around with on the dunes, and we weren't taking any chances; we sat in the car and waited, exactly how my sister and I had done six week earlier.

The main storm eventually passed, though the rain persisted. I knew exactly how cold and miserable we would be if we started off in the rain, set up camp in the rain, made dinner in the rain, and tried to sleep while wet. We would freeze in the 40-50 degree nighttime temperatures. Then again, I kept an eye on the clock and knew that if we started too late we would be hiking into the 30 square mile dunefield with no trails in the dark, and even with headlamps that wasn't something I wanted to do. Finding a good place to pitch a tent is hard enough during the day. Several times the rain let up or completely stopped and I mentioned going for it, hoping to get into the dunes and set up before the next round of rain, but almost before the words were out of my mouth it would start up again. We debated staying in the car for the night and hiking into the backcountry the next day instead since we had a two night permit, but neither of us really wanted to do that. The whole point of our adventure was to backpack into the wilderness and pitch a tent where ever we wanted, not to sleep in a car.

Maybe if I had been by myself I would have hiked in the rain and risked freezing overnight, but I had Torrey to think about too. It was a week of firsts for her; first time camping in the mountains, first time hiking to a glacier, first time going so long without a shower, and I didn't want her first time backpacking to be a miserable experience. My desire to have a successful backpacking trip won out, but as we sat in the car and waited for an opportunity to go I realized that having a friend to adventure with keeps me from doing stupid things. When I'm with someone I am forced to consider their safety and comfort in addition to my own, and suddenly risks that I would be willing to take on myself become something I'm not willing to impose on my companion. (Mostly because I want to remain friends with everyone I adventure with, and if I make them miserable they won't want to go with me again!) Nearly every misadventure I've had while travelling has occurred while I was alone, from getting lost, getting spooked, taking a wrong turn, driving into a blizzard, and more. Now, I might have still gotten lost and taken a wrong turn, but I wouldn't have been as spooked if I'd had a friend to talk to and make noise with, and a friend would have told me I was an idiot to think I could outrun a blizzard and talked me out of even trying. So Torrey and I sat in my car and waited for our chance.

It came, right at the last possible minute. We were dangerously close to sunset, and I knew we needed to get into the dune field asap if we wanted to find a place to pitch the tent. We went as quickly as we could with loaded packs, over the grassy field, through icy Medano Creek, and finally onto the dunes just as the sun slipped below the horizon. We hiked up, and it was just as difficult as I remembered. I had tried to warn Torrey that hiking on the dunes wasn't easy, that for every step you took forward you slipped half a step back, but that warning didn't make our hike any better. We stumbled up the dunes, heading north and east away from the lights of the campground and visitors center in the distance, seeking solitude and a flat place to camp. We found both as the light left the sky and the moon tried to peek out behind the last of the clouds. We set up camp and made dinner by the light of our headlamps, shivering slightly as night settled in around us, trying to stay close to the little flame and boiling water, and huddling over our warm dinner packet. It sprinkled a little and we dove into the tent, knowing we needed to keep dry to stay warm. The sprinkles passed, the moon came out, and the dunes were transformed. 

We crawled out of the tent, staring around at the moonlit dunes in awe. The moon was so bright that we cast shadows against the silvery sand, and we could see every detail of our tent and gear clearly without the use of headlamps. Suddenly, giggling like children, we started scrambling up the nearest dune, sometimes using our hands, laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. I don't think we even really talked about it, we just went for it. We wanted to see out; out of the bowl, out into the dune field, out into the mountains. We wanted to experience this moonlit world for ourselves, not caring about the damp or the cold, just wanting to go. We sat there for a while staring at the stars, giggling and reminiscing about our middle school and high school days, talking about our adventures of the week and what we hoped was in store for the rest of it. Eventually we got cold and climbed down, back into the sheltered bowl and back into the tent, climbing into our sleeping bags and chatting a bit more as we drifted off to sleep with the moon still casting its glow all around us.

The next morning I was up before dawn and headed out of the tent to capture the first rays on the dunes, leaving Torrey still buried in her sleeping bag. I wandered around, smiling to myself when I saw our tracks from the night before, where our wild mood and desire to see had driven us up the dune. As the sun peeked its face over the lip of the bowl and bathed our tent with light I heard Torrey moving around inside and started breakfast. Torrey wandered as I had done while I heated the water for oatmeal, and once finished I followed her tracks to the very edge of the dunefield where I found her overlooking the mountain range to the east below the rising sun. We sat there on the edge of the dunes, sharing the bowl and watching the sand ramp to the mountains wake up. We saw a deer prancing on the sand far below, watched a coyote running down the four-wheel drive road into the mountains, and saw several vehicles start their way up the road as they headed toward the mountain pass. We weren't in any hurry ourselves, heading back to camp after we'd finished our breakfast and lounging around, laying in the sun and soaking it all in. We had the whole day and another night in the park, though we intended to hike into the mountains for our second night backpacking. We'd get there eventually. At the time, though, we had the opportunity to relax, and took it.  

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Golden Days of Summer

I love travelling in all seasons, but there's a reason why summer is everyone's favorite hiking season. Good weather, warm temperatures and golden light...what else could you need? I snapped this photo right after the sun rose above the mountains where a friend and I were just starting out on what would turn out to be a thirteen mile day on my August trip to Rocky Mountain National Park. I couldn't help but stop, thinking to myself that even though I wasn't hiking during peak leaf-peeper months I was still rewarded with golden aspens. I took it as a good sign for the rest of the hike.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Sometimes You Just Need a Friend

Do you have that friend where anything goes? They've stood by your side and weathered every storm and sunny day, and are down for pretty much everything? I'm lucky enough to have several of those friends, even though (and especially because) I've moved so far away from my hometown. One of my best friends is pictured above, paddling with me on the edge of a bayou near where I currently live. Through several cross-country moves, where I've visited her and she's visited me, we've made our friendship that much stronger. As a matter of fact, I've visited her in state she's lived in (yay for road trips and airplanes!), and she's visited me where I've settled as well. Every one of my friends is up for a days-long adventure in the backcountry, or down for an all-day shopping trip, or both as time allows. I don't use the word "lucky" very often, because I firmly believe hard work and determination get you most of what you want in life, but in this case I feel extremely lucky to have such amazing friends. Ladies, you know who you are, and I just wanted to let you know how awesome you are!

A Hike Down Memory Lane

Accustomed. I'm always looking for somewhere new to go, or a new trail to hike in a familiar park, but there's something to be said for hiking the same trail multiple times. You get a sense of comfort and familiarity, and tend to notice small details you may have overlooked on your last pass. Couple that with sharing a familiar trail with someone who hasn't experienced it before and the hike can open your eyes to the trail in a whole new way. I have been visiting Rocky Mountain National Park for as long as I can remember, thanks to parents who insisted on instilling the value of our National Parks in us as kids. With the frequent visits as children and teens, my parents were constantly looking for hikes and drives that would keep us happy and occupied, but that was within our abilites as we tested our limits and comfort zones while growing up. (I think they may have gotten a little more than they bargined for with me, but that's for another post.) The hike to Emerald Lake from the Bear Lake parking lot in Rocky Mountain fit the bill to a T. It's a pretty easy three mile round-trip hike that gains little elevation as you wander through the forest past a chain of three lakes and the connecting stream, remnants of an ancient glacier, up to a steep cirque nearly devoid of trees but with a view of two mountain peaks that exceed 12,000 feet.

This is the trail that Torrey and I hiked the day after our thirteen miler, and it was perfect. We didn't set an alarm but still broke camp early, eager to get back on the trail for more time among the mountains. We were able to set and keep a pace that surprised me; we were flying past the other hikers on the trail (mostly families with children, reminding me of my own youth) that in no way suggested we had hiked thirteen miles plus wicked elevation gain the day before. I'm not sure even now what possessed us to go as quickly as we did, but there ya go. I guess we were on a mission to nowhere. We reached the first lake, Nymph Lake, before we knew it and spent a little time on the shore before heading up the trail. A short few minutes later we came to a pile of boulders that I distinctly remember climbing nearly every other time I'd hiked that trail, and for nostalgia's sake decided to climb again, dragging Torrey up with me.

From there we hit Dream Lake, and Torrey got to listen to my tales about the last time I had hiked here in the dead of winter, where a friend and I snowshoed across the frozen surface of the crystal clear water we were now looking at. That is one of the good/bad things about going to a well-known place with someone who's never been: they have to listen to you reminisce about the last time (or two, or three, or...) that you were there. I'd like to think I tell good stories at least! The trail runs the length of the lake for quite a while, and we were treated to unobstructed views of the surrounding mountains and little brown trout that darted ahead of us through the shallows as we meandered along toward the final lake and our destination.

Emerald Lake kind of sneaks up on you. One minute you're walking through a mountain forest, and the next you crest a mound of rocks and the lake opens up before you in an exposed cirque that rises straight up from the cold waters to the towering peaks above. Torrey and I climbed onto a boulder, above the crowd of other hikers, and paused to take in the view and some calories. Torrey again got to listen to me talk, this time about the trail above the lake that leads to Flattop Mountain and the spot where you can look over the edge, straight down into the water of the lake far below. We sat there for a long time, watching the lake and the people, and occasionally visited by a very friendly chipmunk doing its rounds as it looked for food (it didn't get any from us, I don't feed the wildlife.) It was quite adorable, though a little bold as it climbed onto anyone who sat still long enough. Our visit to the lake was punctuated by the squeals of unsuspecting hikers who suddenly found a fuzzy little animal on their laps or in their bags of chips. Eventually, Torrey and I felt sufficiently fed and rested and we turned to leave, with me already wondering when I'd be visiting again.