Third Time's A Charm

Ypsilon Mountain in the Mummy Range of Rocky Mountain National Park rises to 13,514 feet. It's an impressive and appealing mountain in the northern part of the park, not the least because it can be climbed as part of a day hike. My first attempt to climb it took place in July of 2007, during my first summer in the area.
The logical approach to the mountain starts from Old Fall River Road, the original park road built in 1920. This dirt road can add considerable time to the drive, but is pretty fun as long as any slowpokes and gawkers use the available turnouts and don't block the way. The Chapin Pass trailhead is near the top of the road, at about 11,000 feet. The trail quickly climbs out of the forest, skirts along the western side of Mount Chapin, then ascends over tundra and rocks to the summit of Mount Chiquita (which always makes me think of bananas) before heading across a saddle to Ypsilon.
Mt. Chiquita was my first "thirteener", and I did notice the altitude more than usual. I took numerous rest stops to look at the scenery (and marmots). I only felt bad about having to catch my breath when an old guy in jogging shorts and shoes, carrying only a bottle of water, ran past me up the mountain.

The clouds were staring to roll in before I reached the top of Chiquita. They didn't look like thunderstorms -- yet-- but I kept my eye on them. The nearest tree was over a thousand feet down, and I wasn't interested in being a lightning rod.


The summit of Chiquita provided a nice view of Ypsilon Mountian, and I have to say I didn't really like the looks of the dark cloud that seemed to hover directly over it.

By the time I'd had a bit of lunch, the rest of the Mummy Range could barely be seen through the clouds. It was time to turn around. Ypsilon would have to wait for another day, but that was okay, because the climb up Chiquita had been fun.

In early August of 2008, I decided to try again. The morning was clear and beautiful, with bright blue skies that boded well.

The wildflowers were at their peak, and I enjoyed taking lots of pictures of the columbine, elephant's head lousewort, paintbrush and king's crown (in the following photo, abundant in the rocks where the marmots and pika made their homes). I saw lots of those cute little animals as well, as I started up Mt. Chiquita.

Once on the summit of Chiquita, I stopped for lunch and entertained myself by marmot-watching. These guys must have been used to hikers, because they didn't seem to have much fear of people.

I descended towards the saddle leading to Ypsilon mountain, watching butterflies and enjoying the hardy wildflowers that seemed to grow right out of the rocks. I saw some white-tailed ptarmigan that obviously trusted to their very effective camouflage. In a few months, the birds would turn completely white to match the snow, but now they blended in perfectly with the rocky terrain.









But when I reached the saddle, things changed dramatically. Clouds appeared out of nowhere. I was part of the way up Ypsilon when I heard the thunder. Before I could even turn around, it started to hail. I hastily put on my rain gear and hurried back down the mountain. I was nearly back to the saddle when I saw a flash of lightning. Abandoning the trail, I headed straight down the slope for the safety of the trees. It was rough going, but better than being the tallest thing around.

Ypsilon thwarted me yet again. I wasn't angry. I have a great deal of respect for these mountains and Mother Nature. And bushwacking through the trees to find the trail again was pretty fun. I saw a herd of elk that I would have missed had the weather allowed me to stay on the path!

So, September of 2010, I decided to try once more. Thunderstorms are a little less common this time of year, and I got as early of a start as I could. It was a beautiful autumn morning. The wildflowers were mostly gone, but the yellow and red colors of the landscape made up for that. In the clear morning light, I could see all the way to the Nokhu Crags area that I had explored early in the summer and even farther north into Wyoming.

The marmots, unfortunately, had already decided to go to sleep for the year. Those lazy gits hibernate for a good eight months! But the pika, who don't hibernate, were still quite busy, laying in their winter stores. This little guy found me as fascinating as I found him.

This time, I decided to take no chances. I skirted around the summit of Chiquita. Lunch would wait until the top of Ypsilon. I wasn't going to take the blue skies for granted.

The climb up Ypsilon was great. It really felt like being on top of the world as I looked down thousands and thousands of feet to mountain lakes and even lower valleys. The cold wind made me don my winter hat and gloves, but kept the skies clear. I made it to the top and had lunch at 13,500 feet.


You have to respect these mountains. Summiting a mountain should not be about conquest, but about experience. Ypsilon was fun to get to know.

Trail-free Trek

Lulu Mountain has been lurking in the back of my brain since July. It looked like such a nice little mountain to climb when I saw it from Snow Lake and Thunder Pass near the Nokhu Crags. I felt like I had missed out.

I decided to revisit the area, but from a different route, just to mix things up. I read on SummitPost that climbing Lulu could be combined with climbing Thunder and Neota Mountains from the east. No real trail exists, but all I would need to do would be to follow the boundary between Rocky Mountain National Park and the Neota Wilderness through the woods until I gained enough elevation to simply follow the ridgeline.

I had a compass, a topomap, a decent sense of direction and a good hiking partner. I liked the sound of it.

A pretty red fox was eating some breakfast on the drive up the gravel road. He or she had some very sharp-looking teeth, visible even from the car. I parked a few miles past the fox, at the end of the public road. A scruffy road did continue further into the park, but only government or service vehicles for the Grand Ditch were allowed on it.

The Grand Ditch is one of those engineering feats built back in the late 19th/early 20th century when Man thought he could tame all of the natural environment. The Grand Ditch thwarts the Continental Divide, by taking water from the Colorado River near its source and sending it towards Fort Collins and Denver. In other words, water that should be headed for the Pacific, now will end up in the Gulf of Mexico.

There is some controversy about the Ditch, because the diversion of the water negatively affects fish in the Colorado and because it scars the natural landscape, especially inside the National Park. In 2003, part of the Grand Ditch was breached in a flood and the damage to the area is still quite visible. But anyone who thinks the Ditch might be filled in is kidding themselves. The Front Range communities are still growing (and still watering their lawns), so they're not going to give up any water rights. And the mindset of Man hasn't changed that much; as the inscription Engineering building on the University of Wyoming campus proclaims, "Strive on - The Control of Nature is Won Not Given".

So, on my hike, I attempted to get to know nature a little better by not even using a trail. My main man and I struck out through the forest, headed west, which always feels like the right direction for me. Whenever I have to take the Eastbound route, a little part of me always rebels. Anyway, the woods weren't too thick, and every once in a while a Park Boundary sign was posted on a tree, so the going wasn't too difficult. The two of us were careful, though, singing the Bear Aware song and making noise so as not to startle any sharp-toothed creatures. As we were climbing a steeper section, here and there following various game trails that started and stopped with no notice, a deer ran from our racket.

As the trees started to thin. approaching the shoulder of Mt. Neota, a camouflaged dude with a crossbow appeared. It was bow hunting season in Colorado, and one of the reasons I wanted to hike in the National Park was to avoid potentially dangerous encounters with hunters. It was pretty freaky to meet this guy in the middle of nowhere, but I was glad to see he wasn't pointing an arrow at me. I'm much less concerned about a serious-looking sportsman on foot than about a bunch of guys with four wheelers, beer and guns, but he didn't seem too pleased to see us, and I don't want to displease someone with a deadly weapon. Perhaps we had scared away the deer he was after, but he was on the national park side of the boundary. We said hello, and walked quickly on.

For the rest of the day, we didn't encounter anyone else until we were back at the car. After a particularly steep bit, we climbed above the treeline and made it to the top of Mt. Neota at 11,734 feet. Since the hike started at just over 10,000, it wasn't that strenuous of a climb, but it still included lots of vegetation changes, which I always find really interesting. There were still some wildflowers blooming, but the landscape was headed for fall with reds and golds becoming more common than greens.

From the summit of Neota, I took this picture of Lulu Mountain on the left, Thunder Mountain on the right, and the Crags peeking through the middle. Very cool landscape.

Before reaching Lulu, summiting Thunder Mountain was required. At 12,028 feet, it's higher than the highest peak near Laramie. Medicine Bow Peak, which I have climbed every year since moving out here, only reaches 12,013. The mountains are very different though, with Medicine Bow Peak being made of fabulously colored quartzite, while Thunder Mountain is more rhyolite lava based. Lulu is believed to be an extinct volcano.

It was a very pretty climb, though, with vistas on every side. The ridgeline still followed the Park boundary, but the authorities had chosen writing that made me feel like I was hiking the Canadian or Mexican border...

Thunder Mountain was super-windy at the top, but the views were fabulous. I could see all the way to the Zirkels to the west. The entire National Park spread out to the south and east. The Crags came into view with great early-autumn colors.

From the Thunder summit, I had to descend carefully down to the also windy saddle and then climb again onto Lulu. If I had thought the wind was strong before now, I was mistaken. At the top of Lulu, 12, 201 feet, it was one permanent gust. Despite the stack of rocks someone had constructed to serve as a wind-break, I couldn't stay up there too long.

We decided to make our own loop back to the car by following another ridgeline and descending to a valley to hike along a stream. The gentians were blooming, the sun was shining, and it was warm once out of the wind. In the valley, we heard the very strange-sounding bugle of an elk, then saw the bull a few minutes later. He left in a hurry, probably thinking he needed more musical practice, since instead of a herd of lovely female elk, he only got two humans for his trouble.

Funny Signs

There's a blog of funny signs from around the world, often consisting of mistranslations or unfortunate juxtapositions. Since I usually find it fairly humorous, I figured I would also photograph the signs that make me laugh. Here are a few from recent travels:

The Montanan proprietors of Git's obviously don't know British slang, even though they spelled "Centre" the British way. They also used the archaic spelling of town to refer to their gas station/laundromat/casino combo in an attempt to make their corner of Columbus, Montana seem upscale. Nearby was a bar, some railroad tracks, and some run-down buildings with gravel parking lots. That's about it. If that's a Towne Centre, I think I'll live in the country.

One other interesting thing about Git's was that the ladies' room had two toilets right next to each other, with no stalls or dividers. Thankfully, the outer door had a lock, but I'm not sure what to make of that one.

This unusual name for a fast food chicken restaurant caught my attention in Swansea, Wales. At least someone knew their Geography and was able to say, "Eh, close enough."

I also think it is funny that they chose to have a picture of a rooster for their logo, since my impression is that full-grown male chickens tend to have tougher meat than hens or capons and aren't generally used for frying. But maybe fried rooster is big in Tennessee.

Here's a picture from a few years ago. I think the marquee changer had been watching too much Monty Python. Cool building in Afton, Wyoming, though, and it's interesting that they chose to go with the 'theatre' spelling in what I can only assume is meant to honor to the famous Ford's Theatre in D.C. Or is it another attempt to go upscale?

This sign in Cardiff, Wales is just silly. I wonder if you could even get a pizza delivered with that address. "Stop with the prank calls already!"

Another gas station sign, this time here in Laramie, also made me laugh. You can read it so many different ways, and none of them make any sense.




And finally, although I know I've used this one before, it is still a good one.