Written by: Megan Madill (human)
One thing about me is, you can tell me that something is true, and I won’t not believe it… but I may not fully take in what it means until I see for myself. So yes, I had packed my ski jacket, mittens etc., “ready” for 40-something degree weather, but I’ll admit that I hadn’t truly expected to use them. Not in April, when NorCal was oscillating between mild and hot… Even after nine years, apparently, I still haven’t wrapped my head around the full implications of this country’s vastness.
On Day Two at Rocky Mountain, the sun came out. Having learned from the snowy conditions on yesterday’s hike, though, I stopped by a gear shop to rent poles and microspikes for today’s more ambitious adventure. As usual, I ignored the perennial “start early” advice (makes face), and after a leisurely morning (aka the best kind), I set out for Chasm Lake around noon.
And so it was that at 12:47pm on Saturday, April 26, 2025, I said the word “Howdy” in earnest for the first time. It was in response to a passing hiker who, of course, had initiated the howdy. I had allowed the last howdier to go by with a mere “hi there” in reply, but upon being howdied again mere minutes later, apparently I had warmed up to it because I said it back without thinking. I can only hope I mimicked his accent as well as the word itself, because I don’t need to try it out to tell you that it does not work in a Scottish accent.
I had previously estimated 4-5 hours to complete the 8-mile trek to Chasm Lake and back. Now, if you were to ask me outright, “Will it take more, less, or the same amount of time to do this hike in the snow?” I would have said “Obviously more.” But did I increase my time estimate in light of that information? No sir, I did not.
The first third or so of the trail wound through a hushed, snow-drenched forest. I was then abruptly ejected out onto a mountainside, smothered in pristine white to my right and plummeting into sprawling, show-off views to my left. It was bliss. I was alive. This here was what I’d come for. I stopped to reapply sunscreen (responsible!) and rehydrate (prudent!) and take pictures (inevitable!). Then I pressed on.
Shortly after that, I managed to deviate from the trail. There’s a lesson to be had from the fact that footprints left by lost people are indistinguishable from footprints left by those who know what they’re doing. Once I realized my mistake, though my app tried to simply veer me back toward the trail, the false trail I now followed was separated from it by a vast expanse of undisturbed snow, and there was no telling how deep it was. At least at present I could follow these footprints, errant though they were, and know I wouldn’t plunge through the surface again…
What’s that you ask? Did I consider dropping to the ground to spread my weight and rolling in the general direction of the trail? I can neither confirm nor deny. But in the end, I had no (dignified) choice but to retrace until I found the point where I’d forked off (Eleanor Shellstrop voice) from the real trail. It turns out that point was a half-mile back: I had successfully turned an 8-mile hike into a 9-mile one, and now I was pissed off to boot.
It was all downhill from there, and lamentably not in the literal sense. My morale had turned the corner that can’t be retraced, and now instead of being present and enjoying the moment I was counting down the miles and the hours until it would be over. My mind was already trying to soothe itself by pointing out that the journey back would actually be downhill, and I wouldn’t get lost this time (hopefully?) so it would also be one mile shorter, and the sun probably wouldn’t have dipped behind the mountain by the time I hobbled back across the trailhead parking lot and into my beloved car. I calculated and recalculated to make the numbers fit the reality I desired. The beginning of the end was upon me.
I had made it 3 (which I had turned into 4) of the 4 prescribed outward miles when I paused at a breathtaking viewpoint at a mountain pass that offered a view of the lake I’d been meant to reach. Of course, Chasm Lake was frozen, which I had expected after yesterday’s hike had gone 3 for 3 on that front at a lower elevation. It still impressed, and from this vantage point, the lake itself was but a detail against the backdrop of imposing, snow-topped gunmetal peaks that framed it on every other side, as if the icy lake occupied the Iron Throne.
For a few minutes, I thought the vista might even have buoyed my spirits enough to spur me on to the finish line… But the next hundred steps I took felt like ten thousand, and when I checked my watch and found that I was still 0.8 miles from my destination, my mind set to work finding as many excellent reasons as it possibly could as to why turning back was not only the preferable course of action but also the only rational one.
Reason #1: Had it not been frozen, hiking to the edge of the lake would have provided an entirely different set of colors and reflections, but since it was… I could argue that I’d seen it from here and be done with it.
Reason #2: the 0.8 miles from here really meant 1.6 miles out and back, which was nearly half as much as I’d hiked already. I did not have a third of a tank in me.
Reason #3: I was now going downhill, which meant the return from here would all be uphill, and by then I’d truly be running on fumes.
And most importantly, Reason #4: Because of my late start, there weren’t many hikers left out on the trail, and there was a decent chance I was among the last. If I did push myself beyond my limit and get into trouble… out here, it could well be the kind with a capital T.
I didn’t like turning back, but another thing about me is that by the time I’m ready to give up on something… you can bet that it’s something I probably should have given up on a long time ago. I’ve learned this the hard way. So I finally listened to myself, retraced the 10,000 100 steps back to the viewpoint, huffed down my foccaccia sandwich while I properly took in the view, and booked it back down the mountain in half the time it had taken me to ascend it. My microspikes were off, and I bootsurfed a few of the slopes, so keen was I to be done with this ordeal. The last 1.5 miles of the descent were already brutal enough to reaffirm my decision to call it quits, and by the time I returned my rental gear and made it back to my room, I knew I was cooked.
Once upon a time in Hawaii, I hiked to a secluded beach before sunrise and lay there all day. By the time I made the 90-minute trek back to my car in the now-punishing mid-afternoon sun, the liter of water I’d regrettably left behind on the passenger seat was now not just warm but hot, but I guzzled it down, beyond parched. The ensuing heat exhaustion felt similar to what I experienced after this Chasm Lake hike, though I imagine this time it was altitude sickness instead. Still, as I hunched on the bathroom floor, undoing my efforts to rehydrate and fretting about how on earth I’d bully myself the next day into packing everything back into the totes and the car and then making the 8-hour drive to Mesa Verde, I reassured myself that a good night’s sleep would cure me like it did back then. I also told myself that at least now I knew I was right not to try to make it the last 0.8 miles. Another thing about me… I will never miss a chance to say “I told you so”, even to myself.
Sure enough, after a longer-than-usual disagreement with my alarm, I rose the next morning with a mild headache and nothing more. Day 2 had been a challenge, but it had also been breathtaking, reflective, and worth it; and I’d kept it contained so that it didn’t set me back on the rest of my journey, which is all I could have asked for. Onward, to my second stop: Mesa Verde!
Roamward Bound 