Mountain Hiking

by Harold Sears

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Lookout Mountain is southeast of Mt. Meeker in Rocky Mountain National Park. I first walked northwest along Horse Creek. I passed an intersection with the trail south to Wild Basin and then came to another sign pointing to Lookout Mt. At this point, the winter trail is not always clear---snowshoe tracks can head in all directions---but I wanted to follow the summer trail, so I bore left, crossed a small bridge, and continued up and gradually west across the flank of Lookout.  On the day I passed, the creek was mostly frozen and snow covered, but patches were opening and beginning to chuckle and flow.  Up the switchbacks, the last few inches of snow had melted around the bases of trees.  Stony ground showed bare, and the summery smell of baked pine needles rose up.  There was a little spring, even a little summer in this, but mostly I climbed into winter.  I do like the snow and the wind and the cold.  I’m not in a hurry for it to go.  Winter is exhilarating in a way that spring and summer cannot be.  I think I feel more a part of nature the more of it there is and the more that it presses in on me. 

For a while, the trail faced Mt. Meeker, and impressive views of this “almost 14er” periodically showed through the pines and firs.  There were rabbit and mouse tracks in the fluffy snow. The low winter sun sent slanting rays across a sparkling white surface. There was absolute quiet and then a rising sigh of soft breeze. 

I crossed Horse Creek again and turned south toward the saddle between Lookout and Meeker.  The way was obscure under the snow, and I finally had to admit that I had no idea where the trail lay. I probed this way and that. I studied the trees for blazes or lovers’ initials. I searched the land’s contours for footprints or ski tracks, but there was nothing. The snow was a good three feet deep up here, and there was simply no sign that anyone else had ever passed this way. 

It was midday, so I headed toward the sun and slipped through the trees wherever an open way led me.  The slope became steeper, and I carved out switchbacks for myself, first to the NE and then to the SE, up and up into the saddle and among wildly sculpted drifts and cornices. 

Getting lost has its rewards.  As you wander through “trackless wilderness,” you achieve an intimacy that you don’t quite have on a well-traveled trail and that you certainly won’t feel on a full forest road.  It is a question of distance---off the trail, you are immersed in the natural community; on a trail, you are only next to or along side of that nature.  It is also a question of ease and speed.  The more easily you slip through the forest, the less impact it has on you. When you follow a trail, the trail builder has done a substantial part of your work for you.  When you negotiate the rough terrain yourself and navigate according to the lay of the land, the sun, and maybe accepting some help from map and compass, then you earn considerable extra satisfaction.  The trail didn’t take you to the saddle---you did it yourself.  If a helicopter had put you on the peak itself, would the view have been as good? 

Very much as an aside---I remember once struggling for most of the day to climb the western slopes of Pikes Peak, while hundreds of others drove up the eastern access road.  I climbed through forest and over boulder field and talus slope to emerge on top amid a great, paved parking lot full of cars.  There was a snack and gift shop. I stepped onto this other planet in my rough hiking gear, pack on my back, while clean-shaven, bathed, and powdered natives in Bermuda shorts wandered nearby.  A lady came up to me full of excitement.  “Did you climb up here by yourself?”  Yes, I did---and she moved me over next to her husband and said she had to take my picture.  Her excitement was only vicarious, but she too had a sense of the intimate pleasure and reward of doing it yourself. 

In the saddle, I turned to the southeast.  The trees became more stunted.  Some of the surfaces were rocky and blown clean of snow. I passed through twisted pines and over craggy rocks to the base of a pile of boulders.  Here, I took off my snowshoes and pack for the climb up the ledges.  I should have known that this would not be the mountaintop.  Nature invariably tries to keep us humble with one or more shoulders or false peaks, and Lookout is no exception.  About 100 yards farther south stood a vertical column of rock---the "tower."  I made my way over snow and rocks and mounted the pile.  I could climb up two or three steps and even place my hand on the top of the tower, but all around was silent, white, and cold.  On a warm summer afternoon, with the voices of other hikers nearby, I maybe could have scrambled up comfortably, but today I satisfied myself with that touch.  And then I lingered for a while, soaking up as much good feeling as I could, not wanting to carelessly leave any behind.

Crossing the northern flank of Lookout Mt.

(click on any thumbnail for a larger view)

Upslope toward the "lookout tower."

A view north toward Twin Sisters

A view west toward Mt. Meeker

On the tower, contemplating the summit.

A November Approach From Wild Basin--- 

You can also approach Lookout from Copeland Lake and the Sandbeach Lake Trail to the south. I did that one November, when the air was cold and sharp, cloud cover was thick, allowing a weak sun, and there was a light dusting of granular snow, like tapioca. The pine needles were white with frost. Periodically, the sun strengthened, giving the needles a halo effect. 

I walked the Sandbeach Lake Trail for 1.3 miles, turned north onto the Meeker Park Trail, and dropped down off the little ridge, among pines. The trail curved northeast and then north into an aspen grove. To the east, the sky opened bright blue and sunny. It was still gray to the north and west. 

This section of trail was a little confusing. At mile 2.4 by GPS, I left the Park. At 2.5, I reached an intersection with a sign saying that mines & Meeker Park were to the left. I turned left. At 2.7, I walked back into the Park. At 2.8 I walked out again. I turned left again toward Meeker Park, descended, and bore west. At 3.0, there was another intersection---again left to Meeker Park, and finally I dropped down to Horse Creek. 

A little side trail at the creek led to the left and an old, sealed mine. To the right, the trail carried me along the creek, across a log bridge, and to the intersection with the Lookout Mt. trail, at mile 3.4. I turned west. 

The trail followed the creek that had been frozen back in March. There were tiny waterfalls that glinted as I passed. The soft burble of water flowing. At mile 3.5, the trail crossed back over the creek and began to climb. A big, six-point buck loped up the slope. There were chickadees and their high “see-see.” Farther away, a raven gave its low gargley caw. Squirrels complained in the background. 

Patches of glare ice appeared. There were drifts of snow as deep as four inches. I crossed a creek and then a smaller one, this time frozen still with a faint trickle under the ice. Not only had I climbed higher, but I was on the north side of the mountain where it was shady and cold. 

I finally mounted to the saddle between Lookout and Meeker at 10,440 ft. There were patches of undulating and crystalline snow glinting in the low sun. I turned left and followed cairns among scattered lichen- and moss-covered rocks and stumpy, stunted firs. There were grays, light and dark greens, and dollops of bright snow. Looking up, there were twisted and corkscrewed branches against a deep blue sky. 

I had found a narrow, intimate, and informal trail this time. Some kind person had cut away a few branches, but mostly, cairns led me along the naturally open and largely unimproved ways. I felt a little closer to the land and rocks and trees this way. It all was closer. But I was never in doubt as to the path. Someone had taken a lot of trouble to turn what could have been a rough bushwhack into a comfortable walk. 

Finally, I reached the last “cairn,” the natural tower, 50 or 60 feet high. I climbed up a few ledges into stronger and colder gales. I again managed to get to the point where I could reach the top, but I couldn’t get myself up there. 

I descended to the saddle again and picked out a sunny spot for some lunch. On top, there had been cold, wild gales, numb fingers, and the feeling of being blown right off the ledge. Here, it was warm with a deep blue sky overhead, birds chirping.

Sandbeach Lake Trail

Abandoned mine opening

In the saddle, looking toward the "tower," tiny on the skyline

Looking west toward Mt. Meeker

Mt. Meeker and the "tower"

Lunch

For the Meeker Park trailhead, take route 36 north from Boulder to Lyons, and route 7 west and north past Allenspark at the southeast corner of Rocky Mountain National Park.  Pass mile marker 12, and at Meeker Park Lodge, turn left onto forest road 113N.  It is an inconspicuous dirt road with a sign saying, “Dead End.”  Drive west about one-half mile and simply park on the side of the road.  There are informal “trail” signs directing you to the trail itself, which leaves the road about 0.7 miles in. 

For the Wild Basin trailhead, take route 36 north to Lyons and route 7 west and north through Allenspark.  Cross the North St. Vrain Creek at mile marker 13, and turn left onto CR 84 W.  Pass the Wild Basin Lodge on the left and turn right into the Rocky Mt. National Park Wild Basin entrance station and trailhead parking lot, 0.4 mi. from the highway.

Click on the thrumbnail above for a photo of my trail map. Visit the Rocky Mountain National Park website for additional trail information. A good trail map for all of Boulder County is available from the Boulder Area Trails Coalition (link on home page).

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Cautionary Note -- If any of the hikes described on this site sound like something you would like to do yourself, please use good judgment and prepare yourself according to your skills, your interests, and the season. What was fun for me under one set of circumstances might not be fun or even safe for another under other circumstances. Do not consider these descriptions to be unqualified recommendations.