Brad's Sawatch

Aspen to Twin Lakes

"Is there a trail?"

The most illuminating trail marker I encountered.

I set out from Leah's Aspen apartment, conveniently located at the head of the Hunter Creek Trail. The trail climbs steeply amongst rounded boulders, cottonwood trees and willow, choke cherry, wild rose and serviceberry bushes. Above looms the shoulder of Red Mountain with its famous Aspen Vanity Trophy Holiday Home Hood.

I passed a couple of ladies who were trailing their retarded golden retrievers. The dogs had been let off the leash and were feebly running wild through the woods, barking, drooling, and scaring up all sorts of stuff, most of which they never actually saw. For their sake I hope they never corner a mountain lion or badger, or stumble across a porcupine. The ladies looked at me quizzically and asked, "Where are you going?" I told them, "Twin Lakes." This further puzzled them. Not only had they never before seen a back packer on their little hiking route, but he also knew of some lakes they'd never been told about. The wheels in their heads slowly turned...Perhaps they could take their retarded dogs there on an ambitious day hike. Then they remembered that they knew every inch of the Hunter Creek Trail and concluded I must be a bit lost. I continued, "You know, that little town on the other side of Independence Pass." Hmmm..., they thought it over. "Is there a trail?” they asked. "No", I replied. For a moment the same retarded look on their dogs faces appeared on their own. Then they looked at me like I'd been smoking a little too much of the funny stuff and said, "Well, good luck?" "See 'ya on the other side!" I said and was on my way.

Hunter Creek was an almost imperceptible trickle of water linking small, green pools through the throng of boulders. Small, shy brook trout darted between shadows. The drought was only partly to blame for the low water level. Much of the water is diverted, first high up in the drainage into a tunnel that goes under the Continental Divide to the Arkansas River, and then down lower into ditches that fill fountains, ponds, and babbling brooks through multi-million dollar estates, and irrigate the McClain Flats hay fields dotted with bronze, steel, and marble modern art sculptures.

The trail soon leveled off and entered a wide open grassy valley where the creek was choked by willows and pooled up by beavers. The only signs of man's hand on the land were the trail with its boot prints and mountain bike tracks and the remnants of ranchers' cabins and barns from a century ago.

I hiked several more miles following a dusty bead of dirt until the light began to fade. It had been a still and cloudless day so I just threw out my pad and bag on a flat spot in the grass--no need for my tarp. I grabbed my fishing pole and headed for a beaver pond. My line barely hit the water and I had a fish on! Four more casts and I had five pan-sized brookies in the grass! I cooked them up with a little ramen seasoning and garlic.

Night came quickly. Soon I was in my bag gazing up at millions of stars and hoping the smell of fried trout wasn't enticing a bear to investigate my camp. Annoyed by my presence, the local beaver occasionally by slapped its tail on the water, startling me.

The next day I pushed on up the creek. The trail disappeared and the wilderness began. The grassy meadows gave way to thick, swampy brush and forest full of deadfall. After a mile or so of struggling I emerged on more open and dry ground. I followed scraps of game trails to Thimble Rock, a massive pile of granite that rises in the middle of Hunter Creek Valley. The valley narrowed and the forest thickened. Afternoon sun shot angled beams through the canopy, illuminating mossy branches and dancing on the rippling waters of the creek. A few miles later I joined a Forest Service registered (but not maintained) trail along the creek. I encountered fresh human tracks and I soon came across a couple of tents on the edge of a meadow.

A bit further up I found a place to bathe in the creek and then retreated to the shade of the forest to nap and escape the power of the sun on this cloudless late July afternoon. After an hour or so I got up and headed up and over a pass and down to the South Fork of the Fryingpan River. I rinsed off my salty sweat in the creek and cooked dinner in twilight.

The next morning I hiked up valley a couple of miles and then headed up an avalanche chute to the ridgeline on the east side of the river. It was another cloudless day and I was glad to be in the morning shadows all the way up. I traversed south along the ridge for a couple of miles and looked down on several small spectacularly hung valleys. They looked like space ship landing sites. You know how in sci-fi films the space ships come in over the abyss and land on the massive flat platform of some giant space ship. These hanging valleys dropped from the ridgeline 500 feet and then flattened out for the length of a football field or two before they were truncated by the main valley of Marten Creek whose floor lie another 2,000 feet below. I scrambled amongst boulders down into the last of these valleys and then not so deftly skidded down the steep slope beyond to the valley floor of Marten Creek, breaking myself by grabbing handfuls of willow branches and stunted spruce limbs. With my feet in the creek I had a delightful lunch of an apple, crackers and cheese!

On up and up the valley to a high pass where I crossed into the top of the North Lake Creek Valley. I scared up a young buck with a velvety rack on the high tundra. He did that wonderful bouncing thing deer do sometimes, like their legs are made of springs, and he bounced along 30 feet at a time. Looks like fun! I meandered down to the first trees and took a nap in the shade.

Back on the trail I passed some Outward Bound students. First came some over exuberant high school boys. They explained that they were heading up to Blue Lake. So as not to interfere with their learning experience I didn't tell them they'd overshot the turn-off by about a mile. Soon two counselors came charging up the trail in a pretty sour mood. They didn't even say 'hi'. I soon passed the weaker half of the group gladly resting on their packs at the turn off, joking amongst themselves.

Soon I branched off of the trail to climb a cascading creek up to the valley below Casco Peak. I found some old mining roads that made the climb much easier. Once up in the wide open valley above tree line I set up camp on a grassy patch amongst some willows, bathed in the creek and made dinner. Cotton and meringue clouds rolled in and lit up orange and pink as the sun went down. The Monsoon had returned. It rained lightly on and off throughout the night.

I'd hoped to finish this hike going over Casco Peak, Bull Hill, and Mt. Elbert to Twin Lakes. The next morning was overcast. I hiked up to the pass at the head of the valley and hesitated. The weather did not seem to be developing too fast or look too bad, but the long and high traverse (6 miles at over 13,500 feet) was exposed and in unknown terrain. I reluctantly headed down into South Halfmoon Creek and followed a rough jeep road for several miles past several old mining buildings and into the forest. Eventually I came to the Colorado Trail and headed south along it. For several miles I followed the trail through mind-numbing lodge pole pine forests traversing below the hulk of Mount Elbert. I caught the spur trail down to Twin Lakes and passed through white matchsticks of majestic aspen groves that swayed like palm trees in the breeze. Occasionally I caught glimpses of the lakes below, virga hanging down above them from the soupy sky.

It only occasionally rained lightly on me that day and I never heard any thunder. I may have been fine to make the high traverse that day. But I think I made the right decision not to. The weather is hard to predict, and if there is the potential to be stuck on a high, exposed ridgeline in an electric storm, I'd rather not take that chance.

Once I made it to town I bought a lemonade at the general store and put my thumb out. Local Aspen legend Steve Marolt picked me up. He'd been to the Leadville area on a training ride for the upcoming Leadville 100 bike race. We talked about climbing experiences and plans on the windy drive over Independence Pass. He told me about a trip him and some friends of his made hiking from Aspen to Telluride years ago, and of some crazy expedition he was planning up the North Col of Everest with a possible first ski descent. We rolled into Aspen and Steve dropped me off at City Market where I satisfied my usual cravings with an ice cream bar and some orange juice.