I’m sure I’ve referred to at least half of the trails I’ve hiked and written about as “one of my favorites” for some reason or another. While I do have many favorites, I’d never encountered a trail that unequivocally topped them all. I never expected to, because the landscapes I’ve hiked through are as diverse as they are beautiful. It’s impossible to compare hiking in Alaska to hiking at the Grand Canyon or in the cavernous backwoods of Tennessee. Each wild and wonderful place holds its own unique appeal, and every hiking experience is different, even when revisiting a familiar trail. This is why the concept of having a single favorite hike had always eluded me, and I was perfectly content with that. I’m sure you’ve sniffed out the upcoming plot twist by now, but here it is: I was wrong to think I couldn’t possibly have a favorite hike; I just didn’t have one yet. Not until I hiked Hope Lake Trail with my new husband, less than twenty-four hours after I married him. Now, I can say without a doubt that of all the hikes I’ve ever taken, anywhere and with anyone, this one’s my favorite.
I’m specifically referring to this as my favorite hike, not my favorite trail (although it may be my favorite trail too, I’d have to hike it again to be sure), because multiple hiking experiences on the same trail can drastically vary depending on factors like time of year, weather, who you’re hiking with, traffic from other hikers, etc. Those influencing factors can be internal too, like your mood or current physical condition. I’m not sure what I did to deserve a hike with perfect conditions across the board, in one of the most magnificent places I’ve ever seen, the day after my wedding. As crazy as this sounds, I feel like Mother Nature watched God send me the perfect husband and the perfect wedding day, and not to be outdone, rolled her eyes and said, “OK, hold my beer”.
There’s no way that words and pictures could even come close to capturing this perfect hike, and maybe that’s why it’s taken me two months to compose this post. I know I’ve often overused the “words/pictures don’t do it justice” cliche in the past, and while all of my hikes feel deeply personal, none has ever impacted me quite like this one, not even mine and Andy’s Mount Elbert summit hike last year on my 30th birthday. I’ve thought about this hike to Hope Lake every day since, in an attempt to keep the memory whole and vivid for as long as I can. I could go on and on about the significance of such an incredible journey through the wilderness on our first day of marriage and create an elaborate metaphor about marriage as an adventure, but I’ll spare y’all from all that. It feels wrong to let a metaphor overshadow or filter a hike like this one. Besides, I’ve got the rest of my life to draw comparisons between my hiking adventures and my marriage, if I ever choose to go down that path.
The majestic San Juan Mountains, still freckled with thinning patches of snow, towered above an enchanting evergreen forest with a floor full of colorful wildflower blossoms. This was our view as we drove slowly up the bumpy, unpaved road to the trailhead. Although there’s a chance we’d have eventually made it up the mountain in a car, I was grateful that we were in a 4WD SUV with some ground clearance. We’d spent the middle part of the day kayaking at nearby Trout Lake (highly recommend, it’s gorgeous and wasn’t crowded at all when we visited on a Saturday morning in July), so we got a later start than we otherwise would have on this moderate 5-mile hike. There were only a couple of other cars in the parking area, which worried me. This part of Colorado endured heavy snow much later in the year than usual, and I’d read mixed reviews on AllTrails about whether or not the lake was currently accessible without the use of crampons or an ice ax, which we didn’t have. Andy had forgotten to put his hiking shoes in the car and was wearing running shoes, but we decided to give it a shot, knowing we could turn around and hike back out if trail conditions forced us to do so.
Hope Lake Trail offers epic views of the San Juan Mountains throughout the hike. However, the thing about this trek that I enjoyed most was the opportunity to see this gorgeous space during a time of transition. We witnessed the breathtaking visual contrast between competing seasons during the small handful of days when snow still decorates the mountains, but just enough has melted to make the trail navigable all the way up to the thawing alpine lake. Our timing felt perfect. If we’d tried to hike this trail a week earlier, the snow accumulation may have prevented us from reaching the lake. A week later, enough snow may have melted to attract a larger crowd to the area, diminishing the peaceful solitude that’s a rare gift on a trail as beautiful and relatively accessible as this one.
The trailhead rests at 10,750 feet, high above Trout Lake and the valleys of Lizard Head Wilderness. The first mile or so gently ascends through an evergreen forest and crosses a couple of shallow streams, likely byproducts of melting snow flowing down from the surrounding peaks. At this altitude, the forest is thick enough to provide shade, but thin enough to offer frequent and far-reaching visibility across the vibrant mountain landscape. We encountered our first unavoidable patch of snow at the Poverty Gulch creek crossing, about 0.3 miles into the hike. We briefly lost the trail beneath the snow, and at that point, I wasn’t feeling optimistic that we’d make it up to the lake, having encountered a significant snowy section before we’d gained any meaningful elevation.
As the trail climbs and the distance between trees increases, the views expand, until the tree line fades into the background below, opening up to reveal the brushy, colorful landscape of the mountain range’s upper slopes. As you may suspect, we encountered larger and more frequent patches of snow as we gained elevation. While below the tree line, we could easily navigate around most of them by taking brief detours from the trail, moving cautiously to avoid disrupting the fragile landscape around us (and admittedly, to avoid losing the trail again). Despite extended lines of sight above the tree line, snow covered much more of the terrain, and detours on dry ground weren’t always an option. Staying on the buried trail became increasingly difficult, so when available, we followed footprints left behind in the snow by other hikers. Fortunately, the snow fields were never more than a few inches deep, and soft enough to keep us upright.
High above the tree line at nearly 11,700 feet (according to My Altitude, a brilliantly simple app that I use frequently on mountain hikes), we encountered a large snow field that covered the crest of a ridge. We knew we must be getting close to Hope Lake because of our elevation, but we couldn’t see it yet. We couldn’t see where the snow field ended either, but a clear line of footprints provided enough evidence to assure us that we were still moving in the right direction. Since I was wearing waterproof hiking shoes, I went ahead of Andy to assess trail conditions on the other side of the ridge. I trudged upward through the snow, silently praying that I’d be able to see the lake from the top of the ridge, or at least an identifiable trail. Luckily, I found both.
It took me a minute to catch my breath. I’m not sure if it was the magnificent view of Hope Lake or the slow trudge up the ridge at that altitude (probably both). I’d never seen anything like Hope Lake, half frozen and looking absolutely radiant as it reflected images of the surrounding mountains in fragments between its thawing patches of ice. The colors of the lake encompassed almost every imaginable shade of blue, from pale and powdery in places where the ice on the surface had melted to the point of translucence to deep aqua in places where the ice had already vanished. These spaces between the ice shimmered with the dark grey reflection of the high peaks that rose above it, and the beautiful variation of colors and textures on the lake’s surface made me feel like I was looking into a giant still frame from a kaleidoscope.
Aside from a couple of marmots, we were completely, perfectly alone at Hope Lake. As incredible as the views were, the fact that we had the rare opportunity to witness this place in its most native form felt so refreshing and exhilarating. We explored the rugged landscape along the lake’s northern shore, the only side that wasn’t thoroughly buried in snow. We stayed beside the lake for as long as we could, considering our late start on the trail and that we’d need to allow plenty of time to hike back to the car and then navigate down the precarious mountain road before sunset. We could have planned to spend the entire day at Hope Lake, and that still wouldn’t have been long enough to enjoy those gorgeous alpine views.
In the weeks since this hike, I’ve done more research on the trail and its surrounding mountains. I’ve learned that the trail actually continues along the lake’s eastern edge and leads up to an unnamed pass. The pass provides access to the ridge line that connects the magnificent string of thirteeners that dominate the scenery surrounding Hope Lake. We didn’t realize that the trail continued up to the pass, because it lay hidden beneath the snow and wasn’t part of the map we’d been using on AllTrails. I’ve discovered a couple of accounts from other hikers who have headed west from the pass and traversed the ridge line to summit these spectacular peaks that separate Hope Lake from the much more popular alpine lakes of Ice Lake Basin. On our next trip to Telluride, hiking this extended route tops my to do list, as long as the ground is free from snow, of course.
During our week in Telluride, I developed an enchantment for the area that I haven’t felt for a place since Andy and I went to Alaska two years ago. I’ve loved so many things about each of the wild places I’ve seen, but this one was truly exceptional. We had some initial reservations about planning a wedding in a place we’d never visited before, but looking back, experiencing a place like that for the first time, especially during such a monumental event in our lives, made us appreciate the time we spent there even more. I left feeling grateful for and humbled by the opportunity to have this adventure, and excited for the unlimited possibilities that the future holds for Andy and me.
