I've started calling Rocky Mountain National Park "Romo" after its website URL, nps.gov/romo. Not sure when this started, but it's ingrained at this point.
On the weekend of October 7-9, the first winter storm rolled through. Down here in Boulder we only got rain, other Front Range towns were snowed on early in the morning before temperatures warmed, and the mountains received a decent helping of the white stuff. Saturday, after a day spent indoors cleaning and listening to the constant rain, I couldn't take it anymore and drove up US-34 to see how much snow the park got and catch the sunset.
I anxiously sped up the winding highway, trying to make out what was happening in the world of college football through the radio, which was struggling to maintain its connection to the airwaves between the mountains. As I gained elevation, I eagerly awaited the moment when the rain would be replaced with snow. Soon I rounded a curve and saw the mountains and trees dusted white, and finally I broke through the snowline and was surrounded with the fresh white powder.
In the low afternoon light, the snow added a great deal of depth and texture to the scenery. Distant trees, rocks, and cliffs seemed to pop out of mountainsides more than usual. The shadows from the setting sun's angle, combined with the layer of snow which literally added depth, gave the sensation I was seeing in 3D-HD. I drove faster.
Once at the park I gleefully used the "Express Lane" at the entrance station, having recently found out that my pass will work at the self-swipe gate, to great express success. I felt like such a local, "I don't need no stinkin' map!"
While driving, I figured that I had forgotten to throw my headlamp or a decent flashlight in my pack; all I had was my tiny, single AAA battery, emergency light. So I headed to a place close where I could get by with low light, Hollowell Park.
Hollowell is an open, marshy meadowland that lies at around 8,400 feet, at the eastern base of Steep Mountain. The trailhead is an oft passed by parking lot with a few picnic tables and space for about ten cars, that provides access to the Mill Creek Basin trail system. The South Lateral Moraine separates Hollowell from the larger and much more popular Moraine Park. (Moraine Park is an almost can't-miss elk spotting locale.) This spot is popular with fly fisherman, who take advantage of the quick access to Mill Creek.
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The South Lateral Moraine juts out from Steep Mtn.
The flat expanse north of it is Moraine Park, and
the smaller Hollowell Park is immediately south. |
Lateral moraines are linear ridges of glacial debris deposited along the sides of advancing glaciers. The South Lateral Moraine is one of the more dramatic lateral moraines in the park. It is 1.8 miles long, forested with pines, littered with boulders other glacial erratics, and is very steep on both the north and south sides.
I didn't have the light to spend a lot of time out and about, so I decided to go off trail and explore the moraine. My plan was to hike west along the trail towards Mill Creek Basin right up to the foot of Steep Mountain, and then turn straight north and scramble to the top of the South Lateral Moraine for a view of the Continental Divide as the sun went down. Then I would walk east along the top of the ridge, exploring the snowy moraine, eventually dropping back down to my car.
I parked, put on a toboggan and gloves for the first time this season, and started off, determined to get to the top of the moraine before the sun really started to set. When I reached the trail junction at Steep Mountain, the point I was to head north, I found a very, very strong desire to head up Steep instead of the moraine. I was giddy with the impending return of winter, and the general increased sense of adventure from exploring in the cold, snowy park, and wanted a taste of it right away. But the common sense lobe of my brain beat out the adventure part, and I stuck to my plan, knowing that coming down Steep Mountain in poor light would be a much riskier task.
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| Hollowell Park meets another winter season. |
Having avoided machismo-induced disaster (for the day), I turned north and headed up the far western edge of the South Lateral Moraine, near where it meets Steep Mountain. I walked through the open and flat field of grasses and shrubs for a few hundred yards, to the base of the moraine. There is no gradual increase of slope; the moraine suddenly rises upward from the glacier-scooped valley floor. I hoofed my way up the steep pitch, slipping on the wet snow every few steps. My heart rate rose dramatically as I powered up the hillside with a sense of urgency as the sun started to dip behind Steep Mountain.
When I made it to the top, the peaks of the highest mountains were still lit up with the warm afternoon sunlight. The clouds of the storm were still thick and hung heavy in the sky, as they slid east towards Boulder, Denver, and the plains. I tried to spot elk in Moraine Park through the trees to no avail, as I downed half my water in a few big gulps.
Happy with my sprint to the top, I started east along the flat top of the moraine at a much more casual pace. As the light slowly started to fade and my senses became more acute after my hustle from car to summit, I became much more aware of everything. Even though I was only a half mile from the busy Bear Lake Road, I felt suddenly and entirely surrounded by the natural world all around me.
It is an interesting power that snow can have. It can create an overwhelming sense of silence and stillness like nothing else I've experienced. But it can also help accentuate the wildness of a place; a constant reminder that if I were to stay, I would have to fight to survive. I became aware that, while almost every other animal in the park would have the sounds of their movements muffled by the snow, mine were actually amplified. My boots created loud crushing footsteps, and left stark, obvious and unnaturally shaped tracks.
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| View from the top. |
I stood still on the flat shelf of the moraine, unable to see through the trees down either side, smiling as the wind blew snow off the treetops and onto me. As I moved on, I could hear every creak of the pine branches, groaning under their first load of snow in months. Every chirp and flutter of birds flying from tree to tree. Every crunching decibel of my footsteps, compacting the pure snow between my boots' tread.
I found a large boulder, dragged from God knows where by the glacier that formed the South Lateral Moraine and the valley of Hollowell Park to rest on. It gave me a sweeping view of Mill Creek below, Bear Lake Road making a sharp bend right at the entrance to Hollowell, and the numerous whitened mountain peaks. I quietly ate my gourmet dinner (only the finest Clif Bars, trail mix, and oranges for me) and watched the stream of cars make their way down Bear Lake Road and out of the park. I wondered if anyone in those cars had spotted me, a spec of unnatural green and blue on the edge of a rock, nearly 400 feet up.
As I made my way down the slope, slipping and sliding even more than on the way up, I came across a group of mule deer bucks, who were all already staring at me by the time I spotted them. I angled around them and they eventually figured out I was no threat and went back to eating. I found myself saddened to see they were so used to humans that they didn't even look up when my car's locks beeped and doors closed.
Even though this wasn't one of my more adventurous times in the park, I was utterly and completely thrilled by it. It is a testament to these mountains, that even the shortest time in the tamest place, can generate a most powerful response.
I love winter, and it's coming.