Last week, Kate and I went backpacking - an adventurous trip that we hadn't revisited since we had Cora. My parents watched our girls while we trekked off into the primitive abyss of Rocky Mountain National Park.
We started at the Colorado River TH and immediately went 3.5 miles up, up, and up some more. The rangers had told us to prepare for snow - that the northwest side doesn't typically melt off until mid July. (apparently they do in fact know what they are talking about, since we were the first backpackers to tackle this part of the park this season)
We set out, out-of-shape, under-prepared, but excited. All of the rivers, creeks, ditches, and usual-trickles were rushing full force with snow melt. The trail at times would disappear for 100 yards under the snow before reappearing like a saving mirage in the distance.
One particular bridge was about 6 inches skinnier than I liked for the amount of snow caked to it, the 50 pound pack on my sore, out-of-shape, back, and the class 4 rapids rushing underneath. But alas, we made it.
Camp site found.
Animals seen.
Surrounded by beauty.
Worn out and exhausted!
Peace,
Ross
p.s. part 2 tomorrow...
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