Holy Toledo - What a hike!
June 27, 2019

A Booth Falls marathon . . .

Evidently the desire to see yet another waterfall never wanes no matter how many waterfalls we have already seen; the one on Booth Creek became our hiking destination on a recent day.  We met with cousin Barb at the trailhead to undertake a "moderate" four-mile-round-trip hike, or so a guidebook apprised us.

We were soon notified that we were entering the Eagle's Nest Wilderness Area; however, that designation does not equate to any semblance of a non-peopled location in this case.  Booth Falls is a popular place: we met hikers of every ilk along the way, and quickly discerned that "moderate" is not an appropriate designation for that particular trek.  In fact, we checked another source later and read that it is considered difficult.  Boy howdy - I can attest to that!

Certainly the scenery and views along the way were spectacular.  I loved the juxtaposition in some places of aspen-spring-green against vertical rock cliffs topped by darker firs on the skyline.

Because the remaining snow pack is so heavy, water is indeed rushing down the mountains just about everywhere.  It was fascinating to see convoluted canyons filled with ribbons of snow that is melting, plummeting off cliffs into lower ribbons of snow, only to reach a talus slope below where it is absorbed into the loose rock, thence underground to join with lower stream waters.

It must have been quite an impact from a snow slide to have bent and broken these trees.

Along the way, we were treated to one vista after another of incredible beauty.

There were two short sections of the trail that deserved the moderate moniker . . .

 . . . that only underscored the difficulty of  the rest of the trail:  little more than exceptionally steep creek beds and jumbled washed-out ascents.

Then there were the creek crossings, all in one stage or another of flooding.  Chris crossed the one in the photo below by rock hopping.  Barb and I found another crossing by climbing along the slick muddy bank to negotiate our way across on a makeshift log bridge of sorts.

Chris spotted us on a particularly slimy slope.

I am not kidding when I say I did a lot of huffing and puffing and stopping to get my heartbeat back to normal: we were higher than 9,000 feet elevation, and we were working like crazy.  If it wouldn't have taken too much energy, I would have laughed at the guide book that said the initial part of the hike was steep but it leveled off afterward.  That was nothing but a bald-faced lie written by a very sadistic person.

I honestly thought I was not going to be able to make it to the top, going so far as to give Chris the camera and telling him to leave me to pant and puff all alone in my abject failure, but then I decided that stopping was worse than continuing.  In the end, we all completed the hike; its difficulty was evident in the time it took us to reach the falls two miles up and return - six hours!

It was a bit anticlimactic to finally attain our goal only to find that there is no way to see the entire cascade because you are too close to it as you teeter on the lip of the precipice.  Oh well, at that point, we were kinda proud that we had persevered.  Barb opined that it was the longest two miles she had ever hiked, and I am in total agreement with that.

Lunch on the edge

The astounding plant pictured here is a green gentian.  This specimen was over five feet in height.  The huge gorgeous flower stalk indicates it is in its last season; it blooms only once, often after 20 or more years of life, in a similar way of the agave, with which we are more acquainted in Arizona.

It wasn't particularly birdy along Booth Creek (probably too steep for them, too), but we added quite a few to the trip list here, there and the next place, including mountain bluebird, red-tailed hawk, stellar's jay, red-breasted nuthatch, white-crowned sparrow and warbling vireo.


Camp Hale and the 10th Mountain Division . . .

The more I read, the more fascinated I become by the 10th Mountain Division; the pride that Colorado has in the unit is clear by the proliferation of memorials, murals and plaques in various places. 

We visited the site of the division's home base, Camp Hale, where 14,000 men lived and trained in the 1940s and were then deployed to fight during World War II in some of the roughest terrain in Italy and Austria.  Most of those assigned to the U.S. Army unit had no prior experience with alpine conditions, and were subjected to some of the most intense specialized military training: sking, trekking, rock climbing, survival conditions, and so on in sub-zero blizzard weather.  It is interesting that many of those same men returned to Colorado after the war to become alpine guides and instructors in the fledgling ski industry which they were instrumental in developing.

The ruins of the structure shown below is all that remains of that city-sized base . . .

 . . . but we climbed to a vantage point that allowed us to view a panorama of the expansive site that once occupied all of the large valley floor.

 Rock climbing was a major aspect of Camp Hale training . . .

 . . . and those nearby cliffs are still being utilized by novices; we saw Colorado Mountain College students practicing their skills.

Wandering . . .

As we drove out a dirt road to see what we could see, we were intrigued by a large rock shelter above us.  We climbed up a fairly steep slope to find our way into it, and were surprised by the volume of elk dung up there.  Clearly, those magnificent animals have found that spot quite to their liking.

We enjoyed our climb up and over the top of the hill marveling at the lush beauty everywhere around us.

As with every other drainage anywhere in those mountain, the creek below us was roaring its way from the heights.

Turquoise Lake . . .

No, we never purchased Colorado fishing licenses this trip nor did we put the boats in the water; seems there always too much to explore and we didn't get to it.

We did check out Turquoise Lake as a possibility; on the map, it appeared to be set in a forested area (but then, what isn't around here) with road access ringing it.  Our fantasy was dashed by the reality: a huge reservoir with a road that remained far above lake's surface, and had odd "viewpoint" pullouts from which nothing was to be seen but trees.

Surprisingly, the water level was very low (perhaps water has been released in anticipation of snowmelt).  The lone fishing access was exposed and unattractive.

Although the lake was something of a dud, in our opinion, we saw one very interesting feature: water transfer tunnels.  Those engineering and construction marvels transport river water from the wet west side of the continental divide to the east side where there is less rainfall and higher usage with more population. 

A courtly gesture . . .

I don't typically expect to be charmed by flagmen at road construction sites, but that is exactly what happened when we twice passed one such spot (There needs to be much more road repair happening there; the potholes are epic!).  As each and every vehicle passed that gentleman, he tipped his hat and offered a courtly bow. . . if only we all acted in such a way, what a world it would be.