“We had a mini-epic yesterday” stated our adrenaline hungry friend when we met him at the Beaver Meadows Visitor Center rendezvous point for our intended day hike down Ute Trail in Rocky Mountain National Park.  As we parked one vehicle at the Upper Beaver Meadows trailhead parking area he continued with, “we summitted Mount Chapin about two o’clock in the afternoon”. Say no more, thought us. Being from Washington State we learned on our first hike in Colorado you have to be off those exalted high places before …..you know what. Our friend, obviously, had not hiked here in quite some time.  After a pleasant interchange with a park ranger, the four of us piled into another vehicle for the shuttle to our starting point. The Ute Crossing trailhead at about 11,500’ on Trail Ridge Road is between Rainbow Curve and Forest Canyon Overlook.  With our late (9:30am) start parking was getting scarce. Though there is room for five vehicles only three fit this time due to poor economy of space. We were glad we brought the smaller vehicle to this end of the hike.

Gearing up in a cool mid-August morning wind, we headed off on our 6.5 mile, 3,200 foot decent. A historic sign at the beginning informed us this trail was used over a century ago by the Ute and Arapaho Indians for journeying between their summer and winter hunting grounds. No doubt, as we saw and heard elk at both ends, got scolded by a number of squirrels, flushed out a pair of grouse, giggled at the pica’s and marmots as they tried to beg tasty morsels from us (to no avail, I might add), vicariously soared with ravens over the exalted valley, and tried unsuccessfully to photograph an elusive coyote.

Tromping past two large herds of elk on the fairly rocky trail along Tombstone Ridge, the saga of the previous afternoon unfolded. “We were socked in a cloud and everything around us looked like pea soup. It was cold and had started snowing. Being in Colorado mostly for business we did not have the right equipment. Boy, did I feel inadequate wearing cotton jeans. I can see why they say, ‘Cotton kills’.  We were wet in a hurry. At least, I thought, we won’t have lightning if it’s snowing out.”

Something in the far reaches of my little “Double Income No Kids” brain was gnawing at me. Should we really be doing this with a very tall for her age, 40 pound three-year old? Of course, our friend knows his child. “Have no fear oh ye of little faith” needled the more adventurous side of me.  On we walked at the uneven pace of the youngest in our group.

“Then the clouds lit up all around us, and we were watching lightning that just ripped through them” says the one and only father of this precious child who was knit together in her mother’s womb only to be unraveled in the father’s peak bagging quest. Surrounded by the numerous sleeping mini-Everest’s of Colorado, we dropped over the high point on our hike to the more sheltered tundra of Timberline Pass. No turning back, now. Hungry, and praying for more sunshine during a break, we visualized yesterday’s rapid decent. Dad urgently encouraged daughter to “move out” at a half running, half flying pace over the endless scree and boulder fields. Tearing light all around, thunder you could feel, and….snow! Thank heavens, no bees. If you hear the sound of bees, the sound one hears just before getting struck, “you’re toast”.

After our moment of rejuvenation, we started our widding (that’s walking and skidding on the steep downslopes) through the mostly evergreen mountainside of Windy Gulch. This particular year, 2004, everything was mostly green. We had been blessed with more rain than the previous three years put together. The reason for the “mostly” is that whatever wasn’t green was black from lightning strikes, or maybe fire. Then it started - the low rumble far off, the sun winking behind billows of dark gray, the spitting noise on gortex hoods. No, the gnawing intuition was becoming a reality. This was not the brightest of ideas.

On we slogged through increasing rains, but no lightning today, and no bees. Our friend was having fun teasing us with the end of the previous day’s journey. “I was so tired and sore from carrying her that when we got back to the truck we just climbed inside and took a nap.” Hmmmm, does that mean no piggyback rides today? We were moving slow with not much blue sky in sight. Only a few miles into our venture and at the beginning of Ute Meadow I wondered if this too would pass.

The steep rocky terrain mellowed into a well packed and more gently sloped dirt path through the meadow.  The next portion was a bit of a surprise, but it took some time for us to get there. For some reason our little munchkin wanted to walk instead of piggyback. How I wish someone would have offered to carry me instead!  It was time for her to sprout wings because things were moving way too slow for my impatient stomach. 

There is nothing like the sound of rushing water to quicken one’s gait. Once we caught wind of it we came upon and progressed along the stream (a torrent for this time of year) and scrambled up a slope to behold the surprise.

Getting to the surprise from the Upper Beaver Meadows trailhead is a completely different experience that should not be under-rated.  One difference is the horses that are restricted from the upper portion of the trail leave treasures of evidence on the lower portion. At some point my favored hiking buddy said, “Look, that horse was trotting”. Don’t ask how he could tell, you don’t want to know. Okay, so maybe that part should be under-rated unless you happen to be 15 hands above the trail and holding the reigns. Meandering through meadows, forest, and granite monoliths at a reasonable incline hikers are tantalized with peek-a-boo views. Just as one begins to hear the rushing waters…..bang.  Full blown purple mountain’s majesty, glistening rivers wiggle like the ribbon of a rhythmic gymnast far below, Julie Andrews could certainly be belting out “The hills are alive with the sound of decomposed granite….”, (or something like that) and G.F. Handel at his best filling the soul with “Ev ver ry va al le ey  shall  be ex al al ted…..” including musical mellismas that would put most Baroque composers to shame. For me, this is the climatic centrality of a hike worth taking again and again.

As is not unusual in this area, the sun came back out. The happy epitath from Dad was, “Boy this hike had everything. I’ve been so busy climbing mountains I miss seeing all the natural beauty I normally see when I just go hiking. We’ve had high exposed ridges with great rock formations, beautiful tundra and evergreen forests, high mountain meadows with the last of the wildflowers clinging on, and gushing streams cascading into huge open valleys that rival Yosemite.” The quote of the day came from our three-year old dubbed “Ranger” who stooped down, fondled some variety of wildflower and informed us ignorant adults that, “you can’t pick that; we’re in a National Park”.