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From this airy perch, Snowmass Lake, my next destination, was clearly visible. Unfortunately, the opposite of any vehicle’s side view mirror, this object was further than it appeared. I headed down a steep trail that begged, along with my knees, for a few more switchbacks. The trail rapidly reached tree line and I found myself ensconced in a mixed forest studded with wildflower-filled glades. I had only passed two others since I left Buckskin Pass and continued on in a peaceful solitude. There is an easy rock hop across Snowmass Creek and I enjoyed contouring above the waterway, traipsing above both wetlands and an active beaver pond, though no beavers were to be seen. From here it is a quick walk to Snowmass Lake and I was faced with a choice: camp at the lake or climb over Trail Rider Pass. It was 5 PM and I knew I could lounge lakeside for a few hours, but I was also painfully aware that I am the camper who wonders what it is that goes bump in the night. So with thoughts of large carnivores, I headed for the pass with the hope that greater mileage would equate to a quicker and deeper sleep.
The pass, while moderate, is a tough way to end the day. With stiffening quadriceps I was urged on by up close views of Snowmass Peak, lengthening shadows and a herd of deer whose steady gait made me look like a sloth wearing a backpack. Regardless of potential interspecies taunting, I crested Trail Rider Pass to spectacular views of the Fravert Basin. It is the sort of view that will ruin the next few hikes with the memory of its beauty. The tundra spilled away into a sea of flowers, red rocks, glacial tarns and views stretching for miles. I picked out a campsite from the pass and headed down. Amazingly, the site I picked was adjacent to the first people I had seen in nearly 4 hours! Tired and undeterred, I camped tucked away behind a small rise. After a hasty dinner I cleaned up and then hung the picture perfect bear bag, which, due to my aforementioned carnivore fears, was quite far from camp. I crawled into my tent at 9 PM and was pleasantly surprised to awake physically intact at 5:45 AM.
Day two started with rain. It was the pitter-patter of which that roused me. My thoughts immediately turned to the bear bag. I had hung anything that might have a bear-pleasing odor to it: the clothes I cooked in, food, lip balm, sunscreen, deer carcass (just kidding), and cookware. With all this hanging in the rain far from the tent. I ran the quickest round-trip 200-yard dash of my life and then promptly slept until 7:30. The rain had stopped and the cloud level was around 13,500 feet. I cooked breakfast, eating noodles while watching the steam from my morning tea curling upward to join, unbeknownst to me, the impending rain.
I was hiking at 9AM and by 9:30 was squishing along in the rain. I was on a long downhill, culminating in steep switchbacks leading to the North Fork of the Crystal River. There are incredible views both up and down valley. I was relishing this tremendous cloud, preceded by a plume of mist, blowing up valley towards me. Somewhere in the midst of my awed-by-nature stupor, I realized that the plume of mist was wind driven rain and donned my rain shells.
So now it was 9:30 AM, my “always questionable in the rain” hiking boots had water coming out of the eyelets and I was standing in an aspen grove starting to question Colorado’s claim of 300 days of sunshine. I moved on, slipping and sliding down the switchbacks to reach the valley floor. The river valley was hemmed in by huge red cliffs on either side, which are offset by green tundra. It is a gorgeous place, regardless of weather. Looking like a walking Gore-tex commercial, I pushed on, passing several groups doing the loop in the opposite direction. Typical hiking camaraderie was elevated as we laughed at one another’s sorry state and shared information about what to expect ahead. I was tipped off to a river fording and the location of a log bridge that will not survive the next spring runoff. The trail continued along the river and through some conifers, culminating at a large waterfall, and an unexpected thing happened, it stopped raining. It was still cloudy, but there was hope. I sat in view of the waterfall and did an all time first, wrung water out of both my socks and boot insoles. With my freshly wrung socks back on I continued into the upper reaches of the basin. The theme of red rock and greenery continued as I wound through the trees. The backside of the Bells was on my left and wildflowers filled the tundra. It was stunning, it was straight out of a motivational poster, and yes, it was raining again. Realizing I was going to make this a two-day trip as I knew my boots would never dry, I continued slipping my way up Frigid Air Pass. At the top it stopped raining and an alpine panorama opened up before me. A long, sinuous ridge curved off on the right, and there was a huge view down the stream cut valley leading to the East Fork of West Maroon. It seemed each pass outdid the last.
At this point, the trail drops steeply and contours along a ridge of Belleview Mountain. I got some intermittent sunshine and stumbled along in admiration of the color-filled hills. I walked through 1.5 miles of knee high flowers that were attracting droves of hummingbirds. It was the perfect combination of plant and animal color. The still and brilliant hues of thousands of flowers were enhanced by the bright plumage and mind-bending speed of hummingbirds. These flowers accompany you almost to the top of the West Maroon Pass, the final of the four passes.
Once again, the view from the pass was stupendous. It was bittersweet to crest this pass, as I knew I had no more uphill, but it also meant no more surprise views that one is rewarded with as they clamber over a saddle. With clouds once again building behind me, I hurriedly headed down. There was another ford to deal with, although in late summer it can be rock hopped. In the middle of my rock hopping, just above tree line, the thunder started. I scrambled for the trees. Fortunately, the storm was not intense, with lightning and thunder about every five minutes. The trail at this point goes from one spruce stand to another, with rocky sections in between. With only 3-4 miles to the car, I began waiting for thunder, then running, as much as one can with a pack, to the next stand. This went on for 20 minutes before the storm broke. It was an effective technique that kept me in the trees, but an onlooker would have been quite curious as to what I was trying to avoid. I quickly reached Crater Lake and was floored when the sun came out. Not just peeking through the clouds out, but blinding sunshine and cue the “Sound of Music” sort of deep blue sky. After spending a fair percentage of the day in the rain I would finish the loop with wet feet, sweating and wondering if I should have put sunscreen on for the final mile.
This was the prettiest hike I have done to date. However, It was also crowded, so I would recommend a weekday trip. Also, I would choose late summer so the creeks are not high and the passes are not snowed in, evidently a common occurrence early season. There are campsites at Crater Lake, along West Maroon Creek, along Fravert Basin near the Crystal River and at Snowmass Lake. It would be great 3-4 day trip, allowing plenty of time for sight seeing and relaxing, unless your feet are wet and you can’t get over the bear fear, regardless of hypnosis, shock therapy or hiking with six canisters of bear mace.
(The slide show contains 36 photos.)
Additional resources:
For more information check out The Complete Guide to Colorado’s Wilderness Areas or Classic Hikes of the World: 23 Breathtaking Treks.
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All photos © copyright Sandy Beazley
Map courtesy of National Geographic Topo!
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