What a crappy awesome weekend! Absolutely nothing went right, but I still had a blast! I drove out to Breckenridge to do a little mountaineering over the long weekend; my goal was to push myself, and I certainly did that.
After some last-minute paper-polishing for class, I got to my first trailhead at Spruce Creek very late. Anticipating this, I planned a little night hike for myself - it followed a northern fork of Spruce Creek Trail until it met up with a four-wheel-drive road, which I would follow until reaching Upper Crystal Lake, where I would make camp. Early the following morning, I would summit Crystal Peak, do a little scramble to Father Dyer Peak, and depending on conditions, possibly scramble across to Mount Helen as well.
What *actually* happened (get used to hearing that) was that I sniffed back and forth over several miles of trail trying unsuccessfully to find the fork. I’m not a sweet trail-finder in broad daylight, so I was piss-poor in the dark. The trail I could find was helpfully marked with reflective blue diamond blazes and led to the Mohawk Lakes. So I went with it because I was exhausted.
But before I could sleep, I became nauseated from not eating that day, and it was all I could do to set up my tent (kudos to Big Agnes for making a tent that even a vomiting person can set up!) and collapse in it. The next morning, I awoke weak but refreshed.
I made my way up to the Mohawk Lakes very slowly; as I trudged up the path, I began to hate everyone who wasn’t also carrying a 25+-pound pack (which was everyone, except for some poor parents forced to tote their toddlers in those special baby backpacks).
The way to Upper Mohawk Lake involved crossing two snowfields. I find the more I learn about mountaineering, the more of a coward I am. I couldn’t believe how people were carelessly crossing these snowfields, while I walked across the fields with my (borrowed) helmet on and my (borrowed) ice axe in hand. I didn’t need them to cross, but I sure would’ve needed them if I fell. Admittedly, I probably would’ve done it, too, if I didn’t happen to bring equipment.
This is a picture taken just as I was approaching the upper lake. You approach from below the lake, and the shore is practically level with your eyeline as you walk up. It was like this perfectly clear crystalline pool held in place by magic or something, because you feel like by all means it should be pouring over.
After some last-minute paper-polishing for class, I got to my first trailhead at Spruce Creek very late. Anticipating this, I planned a little night hike for myself - it followed a northern fork of Spruce Creek Trail until it met up with a four-wheel-drive road, which I would follow until reaching Upper Crystal Lake, where I would make camp. Early the following morning, I would summit Crystal Peak, do a little scramble to Father Dyer Peak, and depending on conditions, possibly scramble across to Mount Helen as well.
What *actually* happened (get used to hearing that) was that I sniffed back and forth over several miles of trail trying unsuccessfully to find the fork. I’m not a sweet trail-finder in broad daylight, so I was piss-poor in the dark. The trail I could find was helpfully marked with reflective blue diamond blazes and led to the Mohawk Lakes. So I went with it because I was exhausted.
This is a picture taken just as I was approaching the upper lake. You approach from below the lake, and the shore is practically level with your eyeline as you walk up. It was like this perfectly clear crystalline pool held in place by magic or something, because you feel like by all means it should be pouring over.
On the way back, I did a fun glissade down one of those aforementioned snowfields between Lower and Upper Mohawk Lake, earning myself brief pseudo-celebdom among the picnickers at the bottom.
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