A Mummy Range Adventure

I am well aware that what I'm doing is not particularly good for me, jogging up the middle of a paved road in the dark. This me it's Highway 34, west of Estes Park, leading to the Fall River Entrance of RMNP, on a calm, cool summer morning. Bond Park, in downtown Estes, was well lit but completely deserted when I started at 2:30 a.m.

I'm sure that humans were not meant to run on hard smooth surfaces, taking thousands of identical steps, mile after mile. Our hips, knees and lower backs wear out. Osteoarthritis is epidemic among baby boomers who have trained and raced on pavement for years. My generation alone provides long-term job security for legions of orthopedic surgeons who replace worn out joints and fuse lumbo-sacral spine segments.

Looking west from Mummy Mountain at Hauges Peak

Knowing all this, it's still hard to deny the charm of trotting up the middle of this wide right-of-way for seven miles in the so darkness without a single automotive disturbance.

Lawn Lake Trailhead, about 4:00 a.m: Still quite dark so I tap the headlamp and start up the trail, high-stepping over rocks and log checks. Lawn Lake is a bit over 6 miles away but I won't be going there today. About 5 miles up I'll turn right, onto the Black Canyon Trail, follow it east for a quarter mile then angle le up the southeast shoulder of Mummy Mountain in my attempt to summit all of the Mummy Range Peaks before returning to town later in the day. This is a tour I first did 45 years ago at age 25.

Memory has been shown to be a selective, creative phenomenon that may not always match reality. Therein lies a hazard: Aging endurance athlete underestimates the difficulty and magnitude of an adventure, relying on the memories of his younger, stronger self. I'm having this experience a lot lately, repeating rock climbs I did in my youth and finding them to be very different (and usually much more difficult) than I recall.

Looking at Longs Peak and Mount Meeker from the summit of Mummy Mountain.

The first few switchbacks of the Lawn Lake trail lead up and west to a sharp right turn where the trail meets the Roaring River. Formerly a quiet stream hidden in the forest, the river now occupies the bottom of a deep, wide gorge. My headlamp beam reveals the raw gash in the mountainside and I'm careful not to approach the crumbling edge. I think back to dramatic events on a summer day, 39 years ago.

The Lawn Lake Dam was built in 1903 by Loveland farmers to expand the capacity of the naturally-occurring lake for storage of irrigation water. Rarely inspected over its 79-year lifespan, the dam weakened and failed catastrophically in the early morning hours of July 15, 1982.

Looking east at Mummy Mountain with Lawn Lake below from the Hagues Peak summit

Thirty million cubic feet of water raced down the valley, reaching a peak flow of 20,000 cubic feet per second and picking up many tons of debris along the way. The flood scoured a new, much wider river course that is now visible from commercial flights approaching the Denver airport. Three people died and $30 million dollars of damage was done to property in and around Estes Park. In a strange twist of justice, responsibility for the dam transferred when RMNP was established in 1916. The Park compensated families of the flood victims and, in the aftermath, other small, aging dams in the Park were removed to avoid repetition of the disaster.

Two hours later I'm standing on the summit of Mummy Mountain (13,425 .). The sun is up and my planned route is painfully obvious. The summits of Hagues, Fairchild and Ypsilon are visible as the range wraps to the south toward Fall River and Trail Ridge. The high points of Chiquita and Chapin are hard to pick out, perhaps hidden behind Ypsilon. I have a long way to go, much of the way on terrain without trails. Best to think about it in small increments to avoid feeling overwhelmed. The spectacular view of Longs Peak and Mt. Meeker, miles to the south, is comforting.

This multi -peak traversing game is played most skillfully when one loses as li le elevation as possible between successive high points. Compromises between direct lines and difficulty of terrain define efficiency and reflect one's fitness and experience. I used to be pretty good at traveling up and down steep talus at high speed and I'll be carefully drawing upon that aging muscle memory all day. A serious injury this far from home would be a big problem.

Taking a break on the summit of Hagues Peak

I reach the 13,560 foot summit of Hagues Peak an hour later after descending on easy tundra from Mummy then climbing the long, boulder-covered east ridge. This is the high point of the range. I look back to the summit of Mummy and north to Rowe Peak. Considered by many to be one of the Mummy Range peaks, the Rowe summit requires an out-and-back detour I've always thought of as an unaesthetic variation of this “Mummy Marathon”. I decide against it again today and relax for a few minutes near the Park's radio antenna to enjoy a snack.

View of the path of the Cameron Peak Fire as it entered the northeast corner of Rocky, from Hagues Peak

Descent of the steep south ridge of Hagues is the technical crux of this tour, starting with some downclimbing of 4th and lower 5th class terrain. With careful route finding this can probably be avoided. But I've done it before. It's good, solid rock and the slower movement is a nice change from running down tundra and leaping across unstable boulders.

At many points along this descent to the Hague- Fairchild saddle there are impressive views of the blackened path of last year's Cameron Peak fire that entered RMNP from the northwest. After jumping across tundra, the fire marched east, throwing off a branch that threatened the village of Glen Haven, east of Estes Park. Everyday for a week I watched the battle from the summit of Crosier Mountain; giant helicopters dropping water while persistent winds pushed flames towards homes and businesses.

The saddle between Hagues Peak and Fairchild Mountain

Today, halfway through this dry summer, I'm lucky to find water running from the small, remaining snowfields along my route. These happy little 6-inch wide streams bounce down the tundra and allow me to fill my small, filtering water bottle. I try to tank up at every opportunity, taking short breaks to wash down snacks with the cold, clear, good-tasting snowmelt.

I greet three people who are descending from the Fairchild summit, returning to their camp at Lawn Lake. These are the first hikers I've met today and I'm caught off guard. It's easy to get used to the solitude. Passing over the summit of Fairchild (13,502 .) and angling across the long, unstable talus slope on its south side, I won't see another human for a while.

Looking back on the south ridge of Hague Peak

Reaching Mt. Ypsilon's summit (13,514 .) I pause to take in the stunning view to the east. Spectacle Lakes are framed by Mt. Ypsilon's Blitzen and Donner Ridges, the former being a popular and classic alpine rock climb. The Spectacle Lakes cirque is nearly as impressive as the Chasm Lake valley below Longs Peak. It feels more remote and is much less visited.

I'm back on a trail, now, descending from Ypsilon to the last of the summits, Mts. Chiquita and Chapin. Before leaving Chapin's high point I sit down to have a snack, fending off two aggressive marmots that feel entitled to a portion of my meal.

On the summit of Fairchild, with a view of Ypsilon Mountain

My last steep descent of the day starts down Mt. Chapin's east ridge then turns to the south side, dropping a clean 2,000 vertical feet to the Fall River Road. On this slope, many years ago, I saw my first mountain lion in the wild. At the me I decided that such rare sigh ng must be some kind of cosmic reward for my efforts. It was inspiring and energizing and gave me a motivating boost when I needed it.

Looking down the east ridge of Chapin toward Estes Park

A hungry marmot on the summit of Chapin

This side of Mt. Chapin faces the sun and tends to avalanche frequently in late winter and early spring after heavy snowfall. It's pretty easy to see why. It is the steepest tundra surface I've ever seen in RMNP. As I zigzag down across loose gravel and grass, my feet lose their grip frequently. At those moments I lean to the side, put one hand on the slope, re-establish balance for a split second and continue. With a successful strategy this otherwise scary slope becomes pure fun. I reach the trees and discover a very old, unmaintained trail, discontinuous but unmistakable, switchbacking down toward the Fall River. Passing the occasional, collapsed cairn I make my way through otherwise dense forest to pop out on the dirt road about 5 miles above the Lawn Lake trailhead.

The valley between Chapin and Chiquita

Now, it's just a long plod back to town. Cars pass me on their way up the one-way, Fall River Road. Friendly occupants roll down their windows to ask if I need anything or just to cheer me on. Touching. Spontaneous kindness still exists. Back to the Roaring River where it flows through the alluvial fan remnant of the Lawn Lake flood, I scoop my last bottles of water, enough to get back to town on this hot afternoon. Below Horseshoe Park I leave Hwy 34 near the Fall River Entrance and veer through Aspen Glen Campground to the North Deer Mtn. trail, a much more peaceful way to end another glorious day in RMNP.

It has taken me a lot longer to do this trip than it did 45 years ago and it feels harder; weak, sore legs, dehydrated in spite of my best efforts and finishing the last mile to Bond Park in a zombie-like state. I'm slightly nauseated which is OK because my food ran out long ago and I couldn't eat anyway.

Back at our house, I stumble through the door and collapse on the floor. My wife, Annie, shakes her head and poses a version of a now-familiar question: “So, this is what you STILL do for fun?”

Chris Reveley has spent 50 years climbing and doing endurance sports; and, thirty years learning and practicing medicine. “Now I’m a Happy House Husband with hobbies,” he said.