Mountain Hiking

Toward King Lake — A Snowy Trek 

King Lake is tucked into the southwestern-most corner of Boulder County, high against the Continental Divide. It feeds waters into the South Fork of Middle Boulder Creek, which flows east through a long, wooded valley, gently sloped, clean, and open. I began my walk just west of the town of Eldora in only an inch or two of snow, and I carried my snowshoes strapped to the back of my pack. The snow got steadily deeper, I passed a side trail to Lost Lake, and I strapped on the snowshoes and continued steadily up. 

The trees were thick, and the snow was fresh. Rabbit tracks created an image of routine life and activity. It was mostly a still life. There were slopes and rounded contours, twisted trunks and branches standing out black on white. 

To the south, steep cliffs reached up to a high ridgeline and the old Rollins Pass Road. There was the Needle Eye Tunnel, which is firmly walled up and fenced, now. Beyond the tunnel, the wagon road continued on a timbered trestle hanging out over lots of empty space, curving around to the west and then southwest where it finally joins a more land-based, rocky, and rutted road to the west side of the Divide. 

I walked steadily west, the snow getting deeper and deeper. I lost my balance once and leaned on my walking stick. It penetrated the snow, went down its full length, and never did hit anything solid. I squirmed around, collecting myself under myself, and regained my feet. 

At the head of the wooded valley, a wall of cliffs rose snowy and cold and wind blown. I had long since lost the trail and even the tracks of previous hikers and skiers. The trail was supposed to switchback up that slope, but most of the surfaces were smeared over with a white icing that hid trail, ledge, or any kind of foothold. But the lake must be up there somewhere, and I had good cleats on my snowshoes. I began to angle my way up the slopes. I chose less-steep ways — up a draw, sharp hairpin turn, up a ridgeline, turn again, and up. I came to bare rocks, and the wind howled from above. I took off the snowshoes and scrambled up the rocky outcrops, through tufts of krummholz, and up.

The gale was almost too Arctic to rise into, but I stood and looked over the gray, white, and frozen waste. No lake. Beyond the snowy boulders, slopes rose to another cirque backed by the Divide. I was sure that the lake was tucked back in there, but I had well and truly run out of time.

Up toward King Lake and the Continental Divide

I turned around and scampered down. As I descended this eastern slope, the sun plummeted down the western slope, and the light failed quickly. Often, just a little moon- or starlight is enough to reflect off the snow and give a nice glow to walk by, but today the clouds were thick, and there was nothing. I pulled out my headlamp and scanned my surroundings. There was snow on all sides, whiteness all around, but there were tracks to follow, a roughness in the otherwise smooth surface. 

Where the walk in had been clear and sharp, the trip out was vague and shadowy. Going in, there had been distance and space; going out was close and cozy. There were soft clouds above, unfocused trees and darkness all around, and snow below. I made my way down the valley, fully wrapped and muffled. 

Originally published in the
50 Plus Marketplace News, 14:1, p. 1, 1/2008.

A Summer Hike To King Lake and the Continental Divide 

The King Lake Trail begins west of Eldora and wanders up the South Fork of Middle Boulder Creek. At its start, I walked up what had been an old mining road, up and out of aspen groves, while down below the creek roared softly. Within about a mile, the trail swung left and that roar of water became deeper and more violent, and I had a feeling that today would be a day of water. Informal social trails led over to a 40-foot falls that was certainly running full. Wet rock ridges separated frothy white streams from each other, all backed by the dark green of firs and spruce. 

There were great slabs of rock that formed a kind of amphitheater seating arrangement at the side and base of these falls. As I watched and listened, I admired the varieties of lichens and moss that shared this seating with me. It seemed that the lime-green lichens preferred to perch on the rounded “up” parts of the rock surface, while the gray-green lichen settled more into the “down” pockets and hollows. The dark and rich green mosses definitely tucked themselves into moist cracks that could run with water and even store it for a time. 

But the niche separation of the lichens seemed subtle. The gray-green lichen did creep up from the lower spots and the lime-green variety crept down from the higher. And there was a majority of bare rock occupied by neither. Have they just not had enough time to colonize the entire rock surface? Surely this rock was last scraped clean thousands of years ago? Or had there been a fire that singed it bare? Is the rock slowly being covered? I wondered how long that would take.

Middle Boulder Creek

I’m never in a rush when I hike. On the way up, I can hardly call it a hike — it is more of an amble or a mosey. But I did finally wander away from this first of many falls and rapids. At the intersection of King Lake Trail and Devils Thumb Bypass Trail, I found another nice one. In the summer, we often feel parched at home, but up here there are big waters and soft, cool mists. 

The mining road eventually gave way to a cozier trail among pines, firs, and aspen. I was accompanied by the steady roar of the creek off to my left. There were bright wildflowers — the paintbrush, columbine, and elephant head especially stood out.

Wildflowers

Columbine

Columbine

Elephanthead

Indian Paintbrush

I met a hiker coming down. I started to step aside, but he had already done so, and he said, “No, go ahead, sir.” 

Oh dear. He looked to be in his 20s (I’m 60), but, still — “sir”? After passing, my pace seemed to pick up a little, but I pretty quickly slowed back down. 

At the head of the valley, I came to an intersection with the Bob & Betty Lakes Trail. Across the valley to the south, a stream tumbled among bright patches of snow. I crossed Boulder Creek one more time, reached King Lake, walked along its southern margin, and then up to the top of the ridge. The Continental Divide Trail wound south to Rollins Pass and all the way to Mexico. To the north it stretched to Canada. It’s always a little exciting to come upon these long-distance trails that reach so far. Down below, King Lake sparkled under a cool breeze, and the valley stretched back to the east, full of steep cliffs and talus, light patches of tundra, and dark green trees down below.

King Lake and the Continental Divide

Originally published in the
50 Plus Marketplace News, 14:8, p. 8, 8/2008.