Day 1: West Maroon Pass
12, 500 Feet
Maroon Bells 4 Pass Loop is a 26 mile trail that takes you up and over 4 different routes between mountain ranges, known as passes. We’d secured two nights of camping and planned for three full days of hiking. The beginning of the trail was very crowded, as a lot of people come for just the day to explore the area. The first mile and half or so was fairly easy with a steady, rocky incline up to Crater Lake. This lake is gorgeous! We unloaded for a minute and ate a squashed PB & J, enjoying the view. Chuck went for a swim in the lake, and we spotted a red fox. As we were heading out, we stopped at a nearby stream for our first water refill only to find our filter wasn't working properly. At the last minute that morning, we had tossed in the LifeStraw, a stocking stuffer straw filter I got for Johnny last year. Thank goodness - it would become our only source for clean drinking water the rest of the trip.
A mile past Crater Lake, we faced our first stream crossing. After scouting the area and learning there was no alternate way around it, we prepared to cross the river. Johnny went first, hooking Chuck with the rope to his belt. There was a fierce current and the water, hitting me at my thighs, was a wake up call. This journey would not be an easy one.
We encountered a second stream crossing about 3 miles from there, this one only coming up to our knees. Our boots were soaked through - and would not be dry again until the road trip home, atop our car rack, somewhere in Missouri. I had felt the beginnings of a dull headache throughout much of the morning and into early afternoon. I knew the signs of elevation sickness having hiked Mt. Whitney, and was worried they would grow with each step, but thankfully, they never evolved into a migraine or nausea. One thing I did differently throughout this trip was take Ibuprofen prior to each pass to help with this, along with electrolytes to help keep the elevation sickness at bay.
As we hiked higher, the trail turned to snow and we clipped on our crampons. (This was our version of a date night, so every time we had to do this I'd stick my boot out and Johnny would put them on for me. A real Cinderella moment.) We had not seen another hiker in hours and were in a complete barren snow land, the trail somewhere under the snow. We relied heavily on Johnny's app Gaia to guide us. After spotting the first pass from a distance, we made the decision not to traverse the snowbank, as it looked too deep. Instead, we opted to scale the rock’s face to its right. Halfway up, we realized the extent of the rock wall. It required us reaching high and squeezing into small crevices. We had to remove our packs, pushing them forward and coming up behind. We tucked our poles to the side and used just our feet and hands, crawling on all fours, known as "rock scrambling." Johnny was behind me, carrying Chuck, and I just prayed our boy wouldn't jump. It's one of those moments where turning back would be more dangerous than continuing on. I started counting to calm my fear. 1, 2, 3, 4…the numbers gave me peace and structure.
(Pass 1) By the time we reached the pass, the sun was setting, and we knew we would have to make camp soon. After taking a short rest, we headed down West Maroon Pass in search of a campsite. We could make out a few sites at East Fork on the map, but most of this space was also covered in snow. We discovered an area near a stream with some shrub coverage and as darkness surrounded us, we set up our campsite. We had forgotten our tent stakes, so while I went in search of sharp rocks to secure our tent, Johnny set up the JetBoil for our ramen dinner. Our tent was just big enough for the two of us, with Chuck sprawling at our feet. It was quite cold that night, and we dressed in all the layers we had brought, hanging our wet boots and socks out on a nearby bush.
Day 2: Frigid Air Pass
12, 400 Feet
Plus We Attempt Trail Rider Pass
In the morning, my headache had evaporated. We ate a protein bar, filtered our water, and packed for Frigid Air Pass. Shortly down the trail, we saw another couple and a father/ son team. Signs of life! They were at the Crested Butte marker, which is another way to access Maroon Bells. After chatting awhile, we continued on, but we would see them several other times on the trail. The hike to Frigid Air was not too difficult, especially compared to yesterday's very challenging day. Up the pass, however, was steep and rocky. I moved at a snail-like pace trying to preserve the energy and air I did have. (Pass 2) When we reached the pass, we made a ramen for lunch, rested our legs, and made way for Trail Rider. From the top we could see the path below Frigid Air was buried. We had two options: either butt slide down or crab walk down the rock islands. We opted to crab walk. It was a slow downhill, but we made it without falling.
The hike started with snow, which soon turned to slush, then the entire trail was muddy with melting snow turned to stream. We heard thunder but did not have rain. We lost clothing layers as we moved through, first removing a jacket, then a long sleeve. We had ample opportunity for water filtering. The mud then turned to dry trail and we got our first glimpse of wildflowers, which is one of the things this trail is known for. Fields of brilliant blooms that would go on to color even more beautifully in the next few weeks after we were gone. Was this Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs? At the base of Trail Rider, there is an option to camp at Geneva Lake. It was about 3 PM in the afternoon. Because we only had camping permits for two nights, we made the decision to decide to hike up Trail Rider, even though our energy was spent and we were exhausted. The act of putting on crampons, walking through snow, trudging through mud, wet socks and wet boots, carrying the backpack - it all had taken its toll.
Trail Rider, though, was something else. Lots of greenery, interesting insects, flowers, and a winding trail hugging the side of the mountain. We did not pass a soul. As we climbed, the day closed in on us and we knew what we had already kind of known- we weren't going to make it to the top of the pass before nightfall. After examining the trail app, Johnny noticed an unmarked small lake, a possible place to make camp. We decided to try for it. By this time, we had about 30 minutes of daylight and were both dehydrated. We had to bushwhack through the spindly bushes using our poles and careful not to disturb the mountain tundra. We felt our first drops of rain at the same moment we lost all daylight. We changed into warm gloves, tobaggans and headlamps. Johnny found a clearing, handed me Chuck's leash, and told me to remain there while he searched for a place to camp.
About half an hour later, he came jogging back. I was reminded of an episode of Daniel Tiger, “Grown ups Come Back.” Thank God for this grown up- he’d found us a place nearby. The wind tugged at our tent as we set up and prepared dinner. We had a bag of pasta we'd picked up from REI in Denver. (I still prefer ramen- the flavor is much simpler, and my stomach can't handle anything too extreme after such physical activity. Maybe we can branch out of the noodle category on the next one). Coyotes howled in the distance. Chuck barked and circled around our tent, daring any animal to come close. We hung our wet shoes and boots out on the line, boiled fresh snow for water, and slept deeply, at last.
Day 3: Trail Rider Pass
12, 400 Feet
Buckskin Pass
12, 562 Feet
The next morning we woke to much calmer weather. We were about a mile from the pass and anxious to get started. The hike up to Trail Rider was tough, steep and sunny. (Pass 3) At the top, we were joined by our friends we had met near Crested Butte; we learned they had camped at Geneva Lake. After eating a protein bar and resting a bit, we were ready to descend Trail Rider and make our way to the final pass: Buckskin.
We encountered snow on the other side of Trail Rider, but it was all downhill, so we enjoyed lots of slides and things were moving pretty quickly. Our goal was Snowmass Lake, which we thought would be easy, but so much of the trail was still hidden under snow. As we neared the lake, we faced a 40 degree drop along the trail edge. The snow bank had too many unknowns, so we decided to instead cross the boulder field. This was more technical, with smaller rocks than on West Maroon. We’d put a foot down and the rocks would crumble and roll under us. Johnny grabbed my pack so I could focus on my handholds. Chuck, the Shepherd turned Mountain Warrior, galloped across the snow wall like a small horse. I could have sworn he was grinning. After the rock scramble, we inched across the snow ridge about a hundred yards, where we finally could see the bank of the other side. We had reached Snowmass Lake.
We filtered more water, trying to garner our energy level for the next and final pass, Buckskin. We had heard there was a cornice at the top. A cornice is an overhanging of snow on the edge of mountain that hasn't yet melted, and we knew it may make the trail unpassable. We began the long slow crawl to Buckskin nonetheless.
We met two other hikers here who raised their eyebrows when we shared our plan of tackling Buckskin. They didn't think it possible. But, they also didn't know I was traveling with Johnny, who has completed 8 Ironman races and five ultra runs, a man who hears "that's impossible" then feels an immediate need to make it possible. Two miles later, we met the worst of the stream crossings. The "stream" had surged into a rapidly moving river that formed into a small waterfall. The June heat was melting the snow faster than the trail could keep up with. We tethered to each other, positioned our packs high on our backs, placed our poles wide for balance, and slowly started the crossover. The current was so strong you had to slide your feet rather than pick them up or you would topple over. The frigid water reached my waist. There was a moment halfway when I froze. I couldn't move any further. If I lifted my leg, I'd lose my balance and my pack and be spit out downstream. I knew Johnny would go after me; Chuck would be stranded. Everything shook, from my legs up to my teeth. I remember looking at Johnny and he was shouting, "You can do this, Mere! You can do this!"
I did do this.
I wish I hadn't been so tired for the next leg of the hike. It was beautiful, resembling a kind of fairy world, with shades of green and rushing streams, wildflowers and rolling hills. We did not pass anyone for the time we spent here. We took lots of rest, and by this time, Johnny was coaching me in breathing exercises. We would stop, count to 11, breathing through our noses and exhaling through our mouths. He knew he needed to get me to the top of the pass before nightfall or we may not be able to see an alternate route. The trail merged into a series of switchbacks as it slowly snaked up the side of the mountain. (Pass 4!) We reached the top with a few minutes of daylight to spare - just in time to see the massive cornice glaring at us. Johnny left me with Chuck's leash, strapped on his headlamp, and ran up the trail to see if there was a way around it.
Pitch black, and I was 12,500 feet in the air. 5 minutes passed, then ten, then thirty. I could see the green SOS blinker on Johnny's Zoleo. I would call for help if I needed to. Chuck and I huddled together for warmth and courage. We were still miles from base camp, and we had no food left. Where was everyone in the world right now? What were people doing? Was someone breaking up? Or breaking in? Or breaking out? Or breaking even? Was I going to break?
Then- a headlamp. Faint and steady, like my heartbeat.
He had found the trail, down below. Our plan would be to carefully sidestep down the face of the mountain, bypassing the cornice and conscious of the land. About three quarters of the way down was the trail. We would intersect with it there and begin our descent, back to the base. There were still 8 miles to go, and we’d likely reach base camp at 3AM.
I don't remember much about the slow climb down. We dined on snowballs. We stopped to rest and read the stars. We talked about Declan's upcoming swim camp and Ollie's eczema. We thought about how good a cheeseburger would taste. We breathed together, were silent together, and made space for each other. We listened to the echoes of the woods: the rushing water, the clink of our poles smacking the ground, rock fall, wind. We imagined what it would feel like to lay our heads on pillows.
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Afterwards
The other day, (weeks after returning from this trip), Declan asked me a question that I've never been able to fully answer before now.
"Mama, what's your favorite thing to do for fun?”
The cold nights, back pain, frigid river crossings, exhausted legs, blistered wet feet, and dehydration all came rushing back.
"Hike," I said without hesitating.
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