Estes Park Adventure

I really hate south Texas summers. The heat and humidity are not epic, merely very uncomfortable. The high humidity prevents your body’s natural cooling system from working very well; in addition to overheating you find yourself disgustingly dripping wet. Lots of places suffer from such conditions; however the summer in Houston, like winter in Michigan, goes on and on. So by August we began to seriously consider visiting Ruth’s brother Fred who lives in Estes Park, Colorado. Ruth was not thrilled with the idea of a two day road trip. That was when our youngest, Ivan, suggested checking airfares. In a few minutes he was able to find a round trip flight from Houston to Denver for just about what it would cost to drive there. The deal was so good that not only did we decide to go, Ruth’s sister Sandra agreed to come.

That was why we were able to flee the oppressive heat and humidity the last week of September for the cool and colorful climes of Colorado. Fred and Pam graciously made the hour-long drive to Denver and carried us up to the cool of the Rocky Mountains. We kept rolling down the windows at every stop to suck in that cool, fresh mountain air. It was exhilarating, or perhaps we were just in the first stages of oxygen starvation. We were all used to breathing good oxygen-rich sea level air - Fred and Pam’s house is at 8,000 feet. That means that the air is not only is it cooler, it is more transparent. Their house faces back east toward the east range including Mt. Lily, Twin Sisters Peaks, and most of all Long’s Peak, a huge “fourteen’er” as the locals refer to mountains over fourteen thousand feet. They all look close enough to touch. We took advantage of the evening to sit on the back deck, enjoying that mountain air and listening to the distant bugling of bull elk. I do not know why people refer to the mating call of elk as ‘bugling’; it is a shriller whistling sound. I must say that although it is a penetrating noise that carries a long way; it seems like a very odd call for such a huge animal. I would have expected a more imposing bellow. We sat chatting companionably as the sun sank behind Prospect Peak which rises immediately behind the house. This was more like it.

The Grube house tended to believe in the old adage ‘early to bed’; aided by the thin mountain air and the exertions of our journey we soon emulated them. It would be tempting to claim that we all slept soundly. In truth I awoke several times in the night panting. Once I got my oxygen levels back to normal I was able to quickly drift off again.

Since I was one of the first ones up in the morning I took it upon myself to make breakfast for the six people in the house. My mother-in-law Helen laid in copious amounts of sausage, bacon, and eggs. Well fed, we decided to make the three mile drive into town and do some shopping. We wandered around the charming shops and eating establishments of Estes Park for a few hours; Fred and I tended to spend our time in outdoor shops, specifically those dealing in fly fishing. Fred is an avid fly fisherman and knows a great deal about the sport, local spots, and the fly fishing community in the area. The women seemed to prefer shops that featured clothing and curios - there is just no accounting for taste. Once thing we did agree upon was having a leisurely cup of coffee at a local Starbucks where we were able to enjoy chatting with some of Pam and Fred’s many acquaintances. The year-round population of Estes Park is rather small and after ten years of residency, Pam and Fred are pretty well known around town. We were glad to have a chance to have dinner with some of their local friends.

That afternoon I took a walk in the subdivision. The terrain is dry and hilly and, with lots averaging about an acre, it is far from a typical crowded subdivision. I was surprised to find a mule deer wandering around grazing unconcernedly not 10 feet from the street. My presence was obviously no problem for her. I soon found that wildlife moved easily through this residential area. About 4 PM we decided that it was 5 o’clock and Houston and moved out onto the deck. Shortly thereafter were astonished to see a large bobcat wander down past the blue house next door to Fred’s not one hundred feet from people sitting on the deck. A few hours later that evening we watched a herd of mule deer (eight qualifies as a herd in my book) browsing on the downhill side of Fred’s home. They did not mind us up on the porch watching them either.
Sunday began with omelets for breakfast. The day was cool and bright so we decided to go over to Lilly Lake and take some exercise there; even Helen accompanied us. Sandra and I took a brisk walk on a trail that included some ‘puffingly’ hard sections that went above the lake.

That evening Pam and Fred took us into Rocky Mountain National Park located about a mile from the house. We waited until late Sunday until many of the weekend day trippers had cleared out of the park. Fred knew that it was best to go later to observe some of the wildlife which was typically more active in the evening and of course the scenery which is spectacular whenever it is light.
We had a chance to see deer, elk, and even a cheeky yellow coyote that nonchalantly crossed the road, stopping traffic and then began hunting mice in the grass not 50 feet from the verge. Pam drove us to Moraine Park where we watched a couple of harems of elk from a prudent distance. The bulls were working hard to keep their ladies all together while the girls tended to drift off in search of ‘greener pastures’ which sometimes included that ‘really cute new bull’ just down the field. All this kept the bulls cutting back and forth like a quarter horse, herding the cows together. Fred told us that bulls might lose a third of their body weight during the rut. Once it is over, old bulls will congregate again with one another like old veterans, the recent wars between them forgotten until the cows come into season again.

Monday called for a visit to the famous Stanley Hotel, forever famous for acting as the backdrop for the movie ‘The Shining’. ‘The girls’ all had their fortunes told by the resident psychic; their appointments were 30 minutes apart which gave the rest of us time to lounge about drinking coffee or sipping tea, depending on gender.

The next day I undertook the first of my little climbing hikes -up Lilly Mountain. I had climbed this small, 9786 feet, mountain the previous year and had delighted in the trail. It was only about two miles long with only a thousand feet of climbing so it required no special effort. I started up the trail about 9 AM and was able to finish the final stretch by 11. The last bit was rather steep and rocky but finishing the last hundred feet of altitude was more like clambering up rocks rather than climbing. I sat up on the barren rocks atop the mountain and enjoyed the sandwich Ruth had packed for me. To say the least it was a wonderful view. I sent photos from my phone to several people including Ruth. She sent me back one herself, showing the gang seated and enjoying a beverage at Starbucks!

The next day we visited Bear Lake near the geographic center of the park. After a fascinating drive in with Fred telling ‘park stories’ Sandra, Ruth, and I took the relatively short hike up to Nymph Lake, (named for the insect, not the mythical maidens.) The lake was, as expected lovely, and the walk to and from sublime.

The next stop was a short walk to Sprague Lake. A passing visitor snapped a photo of all of us by the lake. The photos may give the impression that is little lake is pristine and beautiful. Yep, it is.

Evenings were spent relaxing on the back deck, sipping fine cocktails, enjoying the fresh mountain air, listening to stories, observing the local wildlife, and watching the shadows grow long on the mountain slopes. That evening I stayed up to watch the last games of the baseball season as there were no fewer than four final games that would determine which teams made the playoffs. Normally baseball is not as entertaining to watch as other more active sports; it does, however have drama and terrific stories. This particular night of baseball was as entertaining as any I have ever seen. The other sleeping members of the household reported hearing me exclaim in amazement several times as two of the three critical games went to extra innings and the third (rain delayed one) was not decided until the final at bat. Baseball is a game about failure (one, two, three strikes you’re out… Casey at bat, etc.) and this night demonstrated that, as Atlanta and Boston both completed epic collapses with failures in the last game that mirrored the final month of their seasons. By the time Tampa Bay won on a walk-off homerun in the bottom the eleventh inning I was astonished and delighted. Okay, I was in an idyllic setting on a vacation and I still remember watching baseball on TV. But the games were that good.

The next morning was my big event – I had hoped to go up Twin Sisters Peak for almost a year. Although it was not exactly Mt. Everest, or even Long’s Peak, it did involve walking over seven miles with a climb of over 2400 feet up to 11,428 feet. This was difficult but achievable for an older flat-lander like me. I figured three to four hours to climb up and two to three to walk down. I was the first and thus only car parked at the trailhead that morning. It was cool with clouds blowing in from time to time. It took me almost twenty minutes to get lost, well, to realize I was lost. Fortunately I was in more or less open forest and movement was relatively easy; it was also easy to notice the broad trail that I should be on about 30 feet below me. That bit of minor drama over, I began my steady upward hike. A cloud moved over the mountain, chilling me. I put on my rain jacket and kept on through a misty dreamscape. Soon enough the cloud moved past and I was able to doff my coat and continue moving up. I began to hear noises on the trail below me; I was being overtaken by other hikers. As the man and woman come up we began to walk together companionably. I took the occasion to introduce myself. For some reason I went all formal, something I almost never do.
“Allow me to introduce myself, I am Captain Thomas Pinney, United States Navy, retired.”
Without missing a beat the woman shook my hand and introduced herself as a Colonel in the United States Air Force, also retired. Cool! Adding to the coincidence they were both from Texas. I was more or less able to keep up with them all the way to the tree line. They were of great help to me as they showed the trail through the rock field up to the very summit. Was I glad to be up there? Yes indeed. The views were definitely worth the effort of the climb. To the south was Long’s Peak, to the west Lilly Mountain in the foreground with the Continental Divide on the horizon. To the east you could see the far distant plains and almost discern the curvature of the earth. North, Estes Park was visible. With the clear air it almost seemed possible to touch them all. Another younger couple joined us on the peak. As I ate my sandwich under impossibly blue skies chipmunks came out of the rocks to beg for crusts. Clearly they had enjoyed the largess of other climbers.

The young couple headed down first – they had left their children at school in Ft. Collins and had to get down to pick them up before school was out. Typically the walk down seems slower and somehow more difficult than the climb up. This time, however, the views were so spectacular that It seemed like much less than the two hours it actually took. Of course, it was easier going downhill, too.

On our last day in Estes Park we prevailed upon Fred and Pam to take us deep into the park, all the way to the Alpine Visitor Center located at 11,796 feet. We took time to stop along the road to admire the scenery. The Center was in its final few weeks as it will soon, like the Trail Ridge Road itself, be closed for the winter. We are talking about serious quantities of snow up here; the roof of the Center is reinforced with huge beams to support the weight of many feet of snow. We looked down below us into the valley below and were able to see two small clumps of elk still grazing at high altitude; we even caught sight of a big moose down there. The ride down was even more beautiful than the way up.

I took advantage of our final day to walk up the mountain behind Fred’s house, Prospect Mountain. At 9800 feet is over two thousand feet higher than any mountain east of the Mississippi but out here it is not considered much more than a platform for antenna. The route to the top was not a trail but a dirt road. There is a tram that runs from near the top back down to Estes Park but it is broken right now. It did not matter; I enjoyed the view from the silent upper station and then continued up the half mile or so to the summit proper. The top of Prospect Mountain does not have the same clean summit as some of the other mountains; it is large and irregular. I suppose this makes it a better site for the numerous cell towers and radio masts that clutter it up. Even so, the views from the top are splendid and of course the walk up was redolent with Aspens doing their golden best to look like an impressionist painting.

We all enjoyed our week in Estes Park. The best and most important part was the chance for us to spend time with Helen, Fred, and Pam. The hiking, shopping, and rides in the park were not nearly as important as the time spent sharing meals, drinks, talking, and just spending time together. It was fortunate that we able to do all that in such a lovely location at just the right time of the year.