09/27/2026
Heather and I were primitive camping at Musicians Camp outside Crested Butte, Colorado. No electricity, no heat, no cell signal. It was thirty-three degrees at night, and rain pounded Toasty's roof, our pop-up, and by midday, it was in the sixties.
On the third day we drove into town just to catch a signal and get caught up on texts and emails. We were sitting in the parking lot at the Visitors Center when Heather looked into the mountains in the distance. The clouds were breaking apart, and sunshine was spilling through the gaps in long bright columns. Fog began to climb out of the valley and up the sides of the mountains.
"Do you want to drive into the mountains to this happening around us?"
"Absolutely."
I pulled out of that parking lot and drove. The hardtop ended at the edge of town and turned into a bumpy gravel road, and the gravel eventually gave up and turned to dirt. We drove for miles, mezmorized by the scenery...Aspens going gold all the way up the slopes, a rock face with fog spilling over the top of it, clouds stacked up like a painting. Postcard after postcard.
The road ended at RMBL, the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory, and the gentleman running the place told us about a hike that ended at Judd Falls. We drove to the trailhead and started hiking. It was only about a mile to the falls, and it was rushing with mountain runoff when we got there...an amazing view and worth the detour from town.
Then Heather spotted a sign. TO COPPER LAKE, 4 MILES. She looked at me with that notion already in her eyes. She said she felt something, like we were supposed to keep going.
So we kept going. Sugar seemed to question our enthusiasm, but faithfully walked with us.
We crossed a knee-deep stream five times as it meandered down out of the mountains. Cold enough to take your breath the first time and colder every time after, and the elevation gain felt like we were climbing Mount Everest. Four miles of lungs and thighs and stopping to pretend we were looking at the view. The further in we got, the darker those clouds became over the top of us.
Just about the time we started wondering if there was a lake up there at all, we topped out into an alpine meadow, and there it was. The most serene alpine lake I have ever laid eyes on. Copper Lake sat there waiting to see our reaction to her beauty. Willows gone yellow all around the shoreline, spruce climbing the far slope, a peak standing over the whole thing. We stood there and stared at it for a few minutes before we ever thought to walk down.
I took one step toward the shore.
"Stop. Don't move. Moose. Two moose in the lake."
A momma moose and her calf, standing out in the shallows feeding. Water streaming off her muzzle every time she lifted her head. The calf up on the bank behind her with his ears turned toward us. The clouds parted into pockets of dark and sunshine and lit the whole scene up like a scene from Lord of the Rings. It felt like being in another dimension where Heather and I were the only two people there. It was our own private heaven.
Then the clouds grew dark and smothered the streaks of blue and sunshine.
A cold Fall rain poured down on the hike off that mountain and the temperature dropped into the low forties. We broke every survival tip ever given about hiking in the rain. Both of us in cotton. No bottled water, no jackets, and I'm out there in a worn out pair of Hey Dudes.
We were cold and wet and tired and every step of that 10 mile hike was worth it.
This is why we hike. This is why we camp. This is why we travel. Because you can't smell alpine air from your couch.
