What to do when you have all of the daylight...

Why, you do all of the things, of course. These hours of sunshine are precious to those us who spend too many hours each week indoors. I took off on Friday and headed to another of my homes away from home, enjoying the expanse of open country that is the northern tier of our state. I saw a few burger/shake stands on the way and made a note to satisfy any sugar and salt cravings at one on the way home.

Summer has recently arrived with a vengeance on the front range and I worried that too many other people would also be escaping to the high country that weekend, but the campground was practically deserted. By early evening I was at my usual bar getting hike recommendations from my bartender friend. I was also given the low down on free camping areas for future visits. It's nice to have an out-of-town bar that always makes you feel at home. Once the night air finally cooled off, I took a walk before heading back to camp.

Why, yes, this was my first rodeo...

On the drive out of town, I witnessed a stunning arrangement of planets and the moon and one decent meteor. A good start to the weekend.

The next morning required just a quick drive down the road to see the alpine lake my friend described as "blue as the Caribbean" and totally worth the walk. The trail was lined with wildflowers and butterflies and other hikers were all but absent.

I hadn't really looked at the trail map after getting the recommendation, relying on local knowledge to provide accurate details. Local knowledge failed to take into account that snow had come late to the area and was just getting started on the melting stage up high. The first stream crossing was brisk to say the least.

It may not look like much, but that water was running high and fast for someone with short legs, wimpy, bare feet and no poles. Oh, and extremely cold. But, boy, were my legs invigorated after I was able to feel them again. I played leap frog with two overnight hikers and we took turns making sure everyone got across on two crossings.

The trail looked like it could get you to some pretty high peaks, but fortunately I wouldn't be headed that way.

After the second stream crossing, I lost the trail. It was still there. I just couldn't find it under the foot or so of snow that still covered pretty much everything at that elevation. I followed footprints only to find that they doubled back to where they'd started. It was deflating to think that I might not make it to the lake after all, but even more so to think about crossing those two streams again. I worked hard at conjuring my map-reading skills and eventually headed in what was generally the right direction and was soon reassured by multiple human and dog prints.

So, the lake was blue. But this early in the season, it's still the palest shade of blue. That's just the color that ice is.

Photo courtesy of the nice folks whose footprints I followed.

Still, it was pretty and I made it. All I head to do next was scale the snow-covered bowl up to the saddle over to the other side. With no trail. There was a whole lot of kick stepping, some post-holing and a small amount of swearing on the way up.

Sometimes I'd take a break from pulling the icy snow from my boots and look up above me. I felt very much like a mountain goat.

Near the top I was rewarded with a faint sun halo and a chance to watch some hikers coming from the opposite direction sliding down the incline on plastic bags or coats.

It looks deceptively flat from up here, but the beach I was standing on earlier is that blank white section on the top right of the lake. It was a haul, trust me.

Drying out the socks at the about halfway point. Turns out the shoes are only mostly waterproof.

While having a trail mix lunch with the pikas, some hikers from the other side told me the trail down there was similarly snowed over, but at least I'd have more footprints and I wouldn't have those two water crossings, right? Nope, they confirmed; I'd have three. Only one was really "dodgy." Yay?

Gold Creek was a little more ambitious than Gilpin on the other side.

There was a bear (beautiful, disinterested and about 30 yards away, so no photo), more pikas, places where moose should be, a lake that actually wasn't covered with ice, more roaring rivers, groaning dead trees just waiting to lay down, and three creek crossings, all completed via dead trees, not all recommended.

This was the least dodgy crossing and the only one sanctioned by the forest service. Do not look down.

Ten miles hiked off the couch. Not too bad for a slacker hiker. My adventure earned me a free beer that night at the bar and a sincere apology for the lack of mention about the remains of winter at the lake, but mostly it gave me a feeling of accomplishment. I found I could still do what I haven't done in years and not feel too bruised the next morning. In fact, the next day I rode a few hours on three different trails without complaint, at least till the sun baked my brain a bit too much.

The view from trail No. 1. It used to make me sad to see the forest that once was, but now I see the forest that will be.

It's not always cooler up in the mountains and I thought the ride on trail number two might do me in, but I persevered because ride number three was my real goal. It may seem counter intuitive to sit in hot springs on a hot day, but the cold creek was springs-adjacent, so back on the bike I went. Plus, I found these waiting for me when I got there...

Never has frozen water and sugar been such a welcome sight.

All the things done. Well, except for the ice cream/fries stop on the way home (why does everyone close up shop so early on that highway when there are cars full of tired, hungry people passing by every minute??), but that will be rectified this weekend now that I've been reminded that I have one of those just a brief ride away.

Nearly trail's end, with my newly acquired don't-get-eaten-by-a-bear-don't-fall-in-the-creek-stick.