Bear Lake to Hallett to Andrews Glacier, Part 1

My last day in Colorado I had the pleasure of going on one of the best hikes I've ever done with my brother, THE Ranger Adam.

We started at the Bear Lake trailhead at 4:30 in the morning after enjoying a reliable early morning shuttle ride from our wonderful mother Pam (I was not even contractually obligated to put that in).  Its exhilarating to be up hiking before the sun.  Or at the very least, its exhilarating for a minute when you stand at the trailhead and it sinks in that somehow you dragged yourself out of bed to come be here and journey out towards something special.  Then the exhilaration dulls as you start trudging uphill in, cold drizzly mist.  You shiver against the damp moisture that could ruin the whole day yet try to focus only on the rocks footholds; one foot in front of the other into the haze wondering if its real or dream.

An hour in we saw the sun for a brief second over the distant foothills to the east but the rays never reached us.  It was still foggy in all directions and we only saw a few pine trees and weeds on either side.  For moments I would convince myself I could see a blue tint in the clouds and they were on the verge of busting open, but then it would start raining harder and spirits would sink as I feared the sun would never show.

Suddenly the pine trees were dwarfs and we were giants.  The same patterns of the evergreens appeared but so much shorter that we could gaze across the dense tops.  Then the trees were gone and we were above the treeline.

We didn't have any view but it was getting lighter and so we could see wildflowers in every direction, mainly little clumps of yellow at first then all shades of pink and purple.  And so many dots of green algae sucking the moisture out of the rocks, it was like seeing the entire night sky of millions of stars all in green dots spread across silver, grey and brown rocks.  Little ponds and lakes were forming in gashes in the rocks and tiny little streams were rushing down off each of them.  We marveled at how all the water we were seeing had fallen on that one mountain we were nearing the top of, and yet you could see the same forms that had carved the great waterfalls of the gorge or the Grand Canyon.  Water just following its laws, flowing down and sideways whatever way it could, racing towards the ground down steep mountain slopes.  We got to Flattop mountain peak in around 2 hours and shrugged; we couldn't see anything and it didn't feel like much effort as we'd been half asleep the whole time.




We could see the slope of Hallet Peak ahead of us.  For a few minutes it cleared and we could see the steep silver face then a more gradual incline on the other side.  Then it got even foggier and we could only see the steps in front of us.  It became more like climbing and we hyper focused on choosing the next rock to pull up onto with minimal effort.

Suddenly we were at the top of Hallet but we still couldn't see anything but rocks, flowers, mud, and little round pikas squeaking at each other then racing in and out of the rocks, up and down the mountain at lightning speed.  We marveled at the little warriors the size of mice who exclusively live in a place where virtually no other life can survive, and use the snow for warmth like Inuits in igloos.

We sat and let our minds go blank and wander over the patterns of rocks and lichen.  A group of 4 hikers came up and saw the marker that we were at the top of the mountain; they started to high five, hug and shout.  It occured to both of us for the first time that we were at the top of the mountain and this was something we ought to be celebrating.  But it was so damp and we could see so little that it was hard to believe that it was a great adventure to be celebrated.  And so, without any view from the top we started to climb back down the rocks.

We went down for 20 minutes then hit the plateau that would take us over to Andrew's Glacier.  Upon reaching the plateau we noticed a tiny blue patch tattooed against the grey.  We went over towards a cliff and realized that we could feel a little more sun, and could see patches of sunshine dancing on the rocks in each direction.  The dense, heavy indistinguishable mist that had smothered us was heating.  As it heated it rose then condensed into round poofs that raced past before become harmless distant blocks far above our heads.  We could see the entire weather pattern at once below us in each direction; everywhere we looked clouds heating, swelling, then racing upwards, dissipating as the glorious caress of the sunshine tamed them, soothed them then sent them soaring upward to heaven.  The indistinguishable sea of grey gave way to a tapestry of white, grey, and blue.  We could see clouds far away to the East well below us then follow them as they drifted up.  Each patch would envelop us for a quick minute of last ditch effort then let go to race up up and up!

First we could see green mountain meadows around us surrounded by steep rocky slopes.  The meadows were like soft, thin blankets broken by brown and some white patches of snow.  Then we saw Chaos Canyon below us.  It is easy to see where the name came from.  Steep walls fell below us into a dense web of enormous boulders that seemed to be thrown there by a giant to prevent any penetration.  We imagined the first explorers who found chaos canyon.

"We didn't get far.  Dude, it was chaos up there!"
"Alright, chaos canyon it is then!"

Past chaos canyon to the east we could see rows of foothills until the world dropped off.  They were blue and green and brown, little round bumps that curved into each other, and looked so soft and fluffy and alive next to the rocky solitude that surrounded us on all other sides.  This cleared first then the West began to clear and we could see to the Never summer Mountains (correct me on this if I'm wrong Adam).  The mountains there were steep, white and brown and the clouds snarled as they spun around them at whirlwind speed.

Between us and the never summers was the relative flat of the plateau and we headed out that way, sometimes on piles of rocks that wobbled under our feet and sometimes on the soft grass of the tundra.

We had gone to ranger Jake's talk about the alpine ecosystem a few days before and I was eager to be back up here after hearing it.  The talk was Montessori though he didn't know it, he talked about how plants have unique needs up in the alpine and only very uniquely adapted plants are suited to this life.  We know plants need warmth, and trees can't get it up in the wind that hammers at hurricane speeds year long, so the only plants that grow are tiny versions of the same flowers you might see further down.  They cling to the ground to avoid the wind and some of them even bloom in the pocket of warmth under the snow.   They need to get pollinated by bugs that may not be able to fly through the wind from flower to flower so they grow in tight clumps that allow the insects to hop directly between them and pollinate the whole clump.

And beyond the technical talk about the flowers he conveyed his enthusiasm for the ecosystems knockout wonder as a whole; about the unique ability to look out in 360 degrees and see further than you ever have in your life.  He ended the talk by pleading with us to get out and see it: "get out of your car and just walk around up there, above the clouds!"  And after what felt like a days work it was still before 10 Am.  We had done most of the uphill; we were up there above it all and as it got clearer and clearer we had a whole day to walk around and take it all in.  Suddenly the 2 hours of fog was 100% worth it to see it clear to the masterpiece underneath.