An Adventure in the Colorado Rockies - part one - Maroon Lake and Quandary Peak

There is something rather surreal about sitting at breakfast and watching people dressed in breathing masks and carrying cylinders of oxygen as they butter their slices of toast and pour their coffee as though they are about to set out for Everest. My hotel by Colorado's Lake Dillon though is at 9100 feet above sea level which is twice the height of Ben Nevis or about level with Eigerwand Station on the Jungfrau and a fair height to arrive at by car without the benefit of any exercise on the way up. After these men in masks came the raiders - those who had already had breakfast but had returned with doggie bags to fill with more food for the day ahead. If it's free why not I thought - and picked up a banana and a couple of apples for later.

That day - which had dawned fine - I was bound for Glenwood Canyon which I'd been told was well worth seeing and much nearer than the Grand Canyon which would have taken a full day just to get to. Distances in America are in a different league to those back home with a hundred mile trip being "just down the road" and I knew that if I set off down Interstate70 I wasn't going to be sat in traffic jams for half the distance. I also planned - if time permitted to see the Maroon Bells - two spectacular mountains of just over 14000 feet which are close to the ski resort of Aspen some distance to the West of here.

Setting out I journeyed out of Dillon along I-70 soon rounding the jagged ridge that lay to the West in the views from the lake. Its far side was a spectacular rocky wall at least 3000 feet in height that towered up behind as the road began a steady descent towards the valley of the Colorado River. The interstate is not the best way to see the country I thought as I bypassed Vail - that famous resort a huddle of rooftops below vast wooded mountains - but I'd never get to the Maroon Bells today if I followed the minor roads.

After Vail - which is at about 7000 feet - the road descended further towards the summer heat of the distant deserts as the landscape began to change again with rocky slopes rising above roadside scrub which had replaced the verdant pinewoods. The cliffs and crags became higher - or rather the road got lower - and soon the raging waters of the Colorado River was just below on my left. Above, the walls towered up for perhaps 2000 feet to where lines of rocky ridges and spires made up the skyline. Stopping at the next pull in I got out for a proper look and was immediately hit by the waves of heat as the sun reflected off the surrounding rock walls. The 100 degrees or about 38 Celsius down here was - once I'd walked around a bit - much more bearable than 80 degrees in the UK due to the very low humidity and after a short wander I didn't mind it. I would not have fancied a long walk or a climb though!

Glenwood Canyon - along with the Grand Canyon further downstream - was formed by the Colorado River as it flows towards the Pacific and while not on the same scale as the Grand Canyon it is spectacular nonetheless. At Glenwood you get a different view from the road as it follows the bottom of the gorge close to the river while at the Grand Canyon the road approaches the rim and you look down 5000 feet to the river. Here people were kayaking in the thundering waters of the Colorado - there was a lot of snow melting higher up and the levels were high despite the dry hot conditions down here.

After a drink of water I set off again and soon left the canyon walls behind to travel across a wide valley bounded by much lower rock walls. The landscape was definitely of The West and the place names of Rifle and No Name Creek were straight out of the old cowboy movies. A little further towards the Nevada Desert I stopped for lunch at a seemingly deserted sun baked town with the unusual name of Parachute.

I went into a Mexican restaurant through swinging saloon type doors where I ordered chilli and beans (I just had to!) from the waitress. One wall was decorated with pictures of John Wayne and this whole place could have been a set from one of his films. I was just starting on my lunch when in walked none other than four or five cowboys. Not actors but real cowboys - that's what they did for a living. Now these guys hadn't left their horses outside - they travel by jeep now - but they could have walked straight off the film set depicted on the wall. The township of Parachute was not originally a Wild West town as appearances would suggest but was actually built when oil was discovered nearby. Today though the oil men have gone and it is ranching that is the main activity here.

The Maroon Bells from Maroon Lake near Aspen Colorado

After driving for some distance back up into the hillier country south of the river I was approaching the illustrious ski resort of Aspen in dire need of coffee. I don't usually drink a vast amount of the stuff but - perhaps because of the long drive - I wanted a cup now so pulled in at the first place I saw. The Inn at Aspen looked the sort of place that would cost per night what I'd been paying a week but needs must I thought - I'm sure I can afford a cup of coffee here! Enquiring at the desk I took the opportunity to ask for some directions at the same time. The friendly guy on reception cheerfully informed me the way to the Maroon Bells - I hadn't far to go at all adding “Coffee’s over there - help yourself." This of course was America - and not Big City America - where you do occasionally get something for nothing! In the UK they'd have probably wanted a fiver for a brew in a place like this but not here. I got talking to an English couple who were staying here who said the hotel was excellent and was surprisingly good value. They had been touring around the western US for over a month now and were really enjoying it. Apparently there aren't many English who visit Colorado – apparently we prefer New York and Florida.

The trail rises above Maroon Lake amid spectacular scenery

Contemplating how different the genteel but comfortable Inn at Aspen was to the wild west town I'd left behind in the desert I set off to find the Maroon Bells. The view up the valley from the Maroon Creek Road leading up from Aspen confirmed any preconceived ideas I might have had about the Rockies. The aspen and spruce groves clinging to the steep hillsides were overhung by towering cliffs of reddish rock, the sloping stratified layers clearly visible. At the end of this narrow defile stood 2 shapely snow-capped peaks, their sharp summits scraping the drifting cloud overhead.

The view was strangely familiar, even though it was my first time in this valley. The Maroon Bells rising to 14156 feet at South Peak and 14014 feet at North Peak are some of America's most photographed mountains - and for very good reason - the view up this valley is one of the best anywhere. It was late afternoon and even if I'd arrived earlier, the idea wasn't to climb either of the 2 peaks on my own. South Maroon Peak is supposed to be slightly easier, but it's not a walking route and in addition, the rocks can be loose and hazardous. No - I'd just driven a long way and was in need of some fresh air.

I left the car park and followed the marked trail along the right hand side of Maroon Lake - the view of 'The Bells' is best from the end of here - before the trail headed up to the right above the lake and disappeared into the woods, following the slope towards the top of the valley. On the opposite shore, stony slopes scattered with trees rose at a dizzy angle from the water and another trail followed below to reach the far end of the lake below a waterfall. The route I took climbed steadily higher, mainly in amongst the trees to reach a bouldery region, the scene of an ancient landslide. Here it climbed steeply to the left, avoiding the roughest parts.

Closer to the Maroon Bells as the trail approaches Crater Lake

I'd seen no-one since leaving the immediate area of the lake and as the country became increasingly remote, I got to thinking about the bears and mountain lions which were known to inhabit some of the best bits of Colorado. I know that attacks on humans are rare but there's something a little unnerving about walking alone in a forest knowing that you may be being watched by something capable of eating you! A sudden noise from behind some spruce trees made me stop suddenly but no black bear or mountain lion came charging angrily from the shadows. It was probably just a bird. On I went and presently the ground levelled out and the view opened up again, revealing the Maroon Bells now much closer, towering directly above, the snow clinging to their upper ledges. My mind taken off carnivorous forest dwellers, I spotted the path leading off up to the right. This led to the Buckskin Pass and looked tempting but it would be dark in a couple of hours so not today!

I carried on again and in 10 minutes came to a remote mountain lake called Crater Lake, set in a wild rocky valley. I walked to the far end along a shoreline of clear water before stopping for a snack and to take another photo. The path I was on could be seen heading further up the valley following the river - West Maroon Creek - beyond the lake. This particular path goes for several miles before climbing the high West Maroon Pass though that too would be one to come back and do another time.

Looking back along Crater Lake from near the end of the trail

As I set off back down the trail towards Maroon Lake the evening light was fading and spots of rain had begun to fall from a greying sky. As I approached the landslide site there was a barely audible rustle in the undergrowth ahead and a large silent shape emerged from behind a tree just few yards in front. The creature was a greyish brown and about the size of a large dog with pointed ears and a long snout which it kept low towards the ground. It trotted slowly across the path giving me a surprised sideways glance before disappearing back into the undergrowth across the path. My initial thought was “wolf" but though I later found out that wolves had been re introduced to parts of Colorado, I'm 99 per cent sure that this was a coyote I had just seen.

Without further incident I followed the trail back along the lonely shore of Maroon Lake to my car. It had been a privilege to see the coyote at close quarters as they are very secretive animals. The other surprise sighting was right by the roadside below the Berthoud Pass to the North a few days before - a moose had appeared from the trees and surveyed the road for a minute or two before returning to the shelter of the woods. These are a large animal of the deer family with odd elongated faces that will be familiar to anyone who watched Northern Exposure a few years ago.

This short route is called the Crater Lake Trail and is outlined in the Forest Service leaflets for the area. As for me I was contemplating my next day’s walk which was rather longer - the ascent of Quandary Peak, one of the so called Colorado Fourteeners which is the name given to the mountains of the Colorado Rockies over 14000 feet in height. At 14264 feet or 4347 metres it would be my highest peak to date and something of an adventure to say the least...

The Following Day:

The deer and fawn stood in the roadside clearing a couple of yards from the line of the forest and about 10 yards from where I sat. The morning sun shone on their glossy coats as they took turns grazing the long grass and checking around for possible threats. They were quite aware of me and seemed happy with my presence so I was somewhat disconcerted when they simultaneously stood bolt upright in alarm and looked into the woods directly behind the rock on which I sat. I followed their gaze into the dark pines, and seeing nothing but shadows, turned back to the deer – they had vanished – a panic sprint into the forest. Something had scared them off – possibly even a bear or mountain lion. The only thing was, my route led into the woods exactly where whatever had scared the deer had been!

The lower part of the trail just above the timber line

Putting aside thoughts of black bears and of pumas and cougars – which one was it that lived around here now – I headed off up the deserted trail into the forest. Attacks on humans by bears or mountain lions are extremely rare in Colorado though it’s healthy respect to be aware of their presence. Little did I know however that later that morning I would face mortal danger from a completely different source. The trail led me steadily upwards through the deep greens  of the pinewoods, occasional shafts of sunlight bringing colour to the forest floor and I began to enjoy the walk despite being conscious of the fact that I wasn’t keen to meet whatever had scared the deer. I met no large predators however and presently emerged into the bright sunshine of a clearing in the forest which was followed by another and in a few more minutes, the timberline itself.

Surmounting a small rise revealed an expansive vista of snow capped mountains surrounding the head of the valley to my left while straight ahead rose Quandary Peak – an icy sentinel shining in the morning sun. I was surprised to see a young hiker approaching – he must have been out early to be descending at this hour – we had a brief conversation during which I asked him whether I’d need an ice axe or not. Producing a sharp looking piece of stone from a pocket, his advice was to “find a decent rock.” I was impressed by his resourcefulness at using the rock instead of buying expensive kit. I have since made safe the descent of an icy slope in Wales with a well found rock having forgotten my axe. Stone Age technology indeed – but it worked!

The ridge climbed ahead towards the summit

I continued my ascent as the trail climbed across a steep slope of grass and heather above a typical Alpine valley to my left. The Weather Channel had mentioned that thunderstorms were to be expected later so I made the ascent as quickly as I could manage on the heavily rationed oxygen and an hour’s hard labour saw me crossing a wide stony plateau at about 13000 feet. The summit rose steeply ahead and keeping to the left of the ridge close to the drop off to the valley, I began the ascent of the snow. Thanks to the snow - which were ideal for kicking steps in – neither crampons nor for that matter Stone Age axes were needed for the ascent which became steeper as I climbed. The weather still appeared reasonably settled though there was more cloud now over the Mosquito Ranges to my right. Finally, and with the effort of a marathon runner completing that tortuous lap of the track that comes just after running the 26 miles and just before collapsing on the ground, I reached the summit of my first ‘fourteener.’

I made it to the summit and there was someone to take my photo!

Surprised to see other people up here, we took photos of the fast disappearing view before deciding to head down as the weather seemed to be going downhill as fast as we should have been! Large dry snowballs began to fall – each one looking like a giant hailstone but being composed of light powdery snow while a still grey mist surrounded us and the air prickled with static electricity. We descended the slope quickly as the air became filled with an eerie sound.

I knew that sound – it was the noise power lines made on a damp day. It was the sound of electricity making its unstoppable way to Earth. Earth in this case was us atop a 14000 foot high, fairly isolated mountain, and the power source, a building storm with the energy of a thermonuclear bomb.  The brim of my hat began to fizz and crackle and the faint blue glow of St Elmo’s fire lit the mist. Removing my hat caused my hair to stand on end and I was now getting electric shocks through my fingertips. I replaced my hat and the fizzing sound grew steadily in pitch. Having visions of a flash of blue light that would reunite me with God somewhat prematurely, I dived onto the snowfield, shouting to my companions to follow, and slid penguin style for a short way down the slope. Though water and electricity are generally considered a bad combination, I somehow knew that snow was a bad conductor.

Looking over the Mosquito Range from the summit

Few words were spoken as the 4 of us made our way as quickly as possible down the snow slope. The static seemed to reduce as we got lower. As thunder began to rumble over the Mosquito Range, I followed the guy in front and removing a plastic bin liner from my rucksack, sat down on it on the snow and proceeded to slide down the mountain. Not perhaps the most stylish descent I’ve ever made but preferable to finding out what life is like as a fried chicken!

The storm didn’t reach us right away but as we returned to the forest, the Rockies echoed to the sound of thunder and all thought of marauding bears and mountain lions was gone, as the safety of the forest was reached. Such had been the nature of our descent that we’d not been able to make each other’s acquaintance properly. All I knew was that the guy of about my own age was from Denver and had a cabin somewhere near here, and that the younger boy and girl were from the neighboring state of

Quandary from the trailhead after the ascent

Kansas. We bade our farewells at the trailhead and I continued my way back to Lake Dillon where I was staying. Later that afternoon, I was treated to a spectacular natural firework display over the lake which I watched from the beach, thoughtfully retreating to the safety of my room as the storm approached closer...

the second part of the journey is right here