Worth the Climb

I was looking for some pictures when I stumbled upon a great memory.  After my husband and I started going back to the mountains I had wanted to fine a spot where my parents and I camped when I was young.  We finally got there and though much was unfamiliar, roads had changed and a wilderness gate was erected, enough was the same that I was thrilled just to be in the area.  We walked down to the lake the day after we arrived.  Even when I was young, we couldn’t drive all the way to the lake.  The lake itself was as though nothing had changed at all in all those years. I still remember the makeshift raft I built and floated to the middle of the very deep lake.  My parents were ready to jump into that frigid water and rescue me, but after a bit of thought and awkward engineering, I made it back without that.

The day after we went to the lake, we decided to see if we could make it up to the blue ridge.  We didn’t realize that the trail that forked off to take us to the lake, would have led us to the ridge overlooking Rocky Mountain National Park had we taken the main trail. 
I had a topo map.  I like maps and think I can read them well. That little fact has brought much laughter and derision from family.  At any rate, we struck out cross country for what the map seemed to indicate as a possible way up to the ridge.  It was grueling.

We’d been hiking most all day when the way got steep and gravelly, which is usually an indication that the top of something is near.  My son in law lay down on the last grassy patch before the way became quite barren.  I lay down as well.  We were both spent.  The others went on while we rested and visited and insisted they catch us on the way down.

I’d had enough rest to sit up and breath more normally.  Phillip was still prone when I heard my husband call from the crest of our resting place.

“You’ve got to come” he cried out as he scrambled down the mountain toward us. “I’ll help you.”

That was enough to peak Phillip’s attention as well as mine and we both began crawling up the steep incline at a forced but weary pace.  Louis caught up with me and I sensed his excitement.  I asked him and he said “I didn’t make it all the way; I wanted you to come.” At the crest, my daughter appeared and waited anxiously for her husband.  And so we both stepped up onto the ridge.

It was all that I could do to stand in the wind on top of the ridge and yet the beauty was amazing.  The world stretched before us, in hills and valleys, soaring peaks stretching out in all directions as far as the atmosphere allowed and our eyes could perceive. 

To the east, well past the mountains and meadows of Rocky Mountain National Park, the earth began to flatten some and stretch away into the plain. To the west and south, range after range of mountains ended in the oblivion of distance.  To the north, the ridge continued a good distance to the long peak of Cascade Mountain and finally gave way to the snowy undulations of the never summer range.  It was mystical and magical, ancient and new.  Holding our hats with one hand and digging our walking sticks into the hard windswept earth with the other we explored the ridge until it was apparent we must head back to camp or darkness would hinder our travel and bring a chill we were not prepared for. Regardless of our age or size, we were all children of one father.

In our explorations, we discovered the right way down.  The Wolverine Trail went a short distance to the east of Lost Lake and back to the wilderness gate where we had our camp.  It was dusk when we saw the sign for the spur trail going to the lake and knew we were almost back to this little abode we had stretched out in the forest.

We tumbled into camp just after darkness had arrived and set about the comfort of a warm campfire and food.  For the remaining days we shared, laughed, reminisced and planned the next part of our adventure; a vision which would require more equipment and time.