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We pushed on from boulder-strewn Flattop Mountain, crossed the creased back of Tyndall Glacier, and after much scrambling over Volkswagon-sized boulders, finally reached the summit of Hallett Peak. Now, truly on top of the world, we found an outcropping of stone and sat upon the tilted head of the mountain, which reached nearly 13,000 feet into a seamless sky. Aaah. Summer in the Rockies.

We braced ourselves and took a deep mental breath, swinging our legs over the edge of the rock. Gazing below, my wife, Joan, and I marveled at our hiking boots as they swayed lazily in the thin air � nearly a 1000 feet above the icy finger of the glacier. I tossed a stone into the frosty air and watched it tumble in slow, arching loops. It seemed to fall forever, but finally crashed silently against the boulders below. Joan looked at me, and I think both of us developed a new respect for gravity at that moment. Our hands seemed to grip the smooth stone a little tighter and only then did we release the breath that neither of us knew we were holding.

If I only had one day in Rocky Mountain National Park, and only had time for one hike, this one would be it! The hike up Hallett Peak takes you past sparkling lakes, roaring mountain streams, aspen groves, and fields of wildflowers. Within the span of five miles and an altitude gain of 3,238 feet, Joan and I crossed three climate zones.

First, a little lesson on climate and altitude. From its lowest point to its highest, Rocky Mountain National Park rises nearly 6,000 feet. This is no small altitude gain. You can figure on at least a three-degree drop in temperature for every 1,000 feet in elevation gain. That�s in a perfect world. What you can count on is the weather always being unpredictable at the higher altitudes. Any hike being planned to Hallett Peak or any other high destination should be embarked upon early in the day, as afternoon thunderstorms are almost a guarantee up high. And believe me, the human body acts as a lightening rod above tree line!

So, now that we had our hike planned around the weather, there was something else to consider � altitude. Here in the east, we live at sea level. What that means as far as breathing goes is quite simply this: when we breath in there is 15 pounds of pressure which forces oxygen through the lining of our lungs and into our bodies, thereby sustaining us. As we enter higher elevations, that pressure diminishes. At 10,000 feet, the pressure drops to 10 pounds, and at 18,000 feet, it drops to half of what it was at sea level. So you can see, breathing becomes more and more labored as we climb higher.

Many people feel the effects of the higher altitudes in different ways. The most common side effect is headache. Fatigue, shortness of breath, and even nausea are some of the other symptoms. The main point to consider here is that if you should experience any of these effects, you should turn back. Altitude sickness is a serious thing, and ignored, can prove fatal. The easiest way to prevent it is through acclimatization. Move up from the lower levels a little at a time. Generally, the experts agree that 2000 feet per day is a safe limit for acclimatization. Luckily, Joan and I were able to acclimate for several days and experienced no altitude sickness.

As we skirted the north shore of Bear Lake, Hallett Peak loomed before us, its summit shading the retreating remains of Tyndall Glacier. It was tempting to linger around the glimmering water, but storms were common in the afternoon, and we wanted to make the summit before they arrived. So with a parting look, we left the lake and headed up the path. One note, this first part of the trail is pretty crowded, and in fact, Joan had to give me a bit of a pep talk. I like a secluded trail, and this first part is anything but. In fact, it�s wise to get to the Bear Lake trail head early, as the hundred or so spaces fill up pretty quickly after 9:a.m.. Still, the groves of aspen are a nice diversion, and after a quarter mile or so, the crowds all but disappear. Another third of a mile through the ever-quaking aspen, we reached the first of our temptations. We could continue our path up, or take the easier route to Bierstadt Lake. The lake is a tempting diversion. Perhaps it would have been more tempting had we not spent several hours on its shore the year before picnicking. Today though, it was Hallett Peak or bust! Even when the trail diverged again, this time to Odessa and Fern Lakes, we never blinked � just continued our westward climb.

The trail now moved steadily upward, and the aspen gave way to towering fir and spruce. The smell was intoxicating! I thought Joan would hyperventilate as often as she inhaled a mouthful of the Christmas-like aroma! And here�s a secret: the next time you�re close to a Ponderosa pine, sneak up to the bark and press your nose against it. You�ll be surprised at the pleasant, almost liquid smell of vanilla! So go ahead! Grab that trunk and give it a hug next time, you won�t be disappointed.

The trail climbs and meanders through the forest, often guarded by grouseberry, hollygrape, and bearberry. And then, just as we began to feel comfortable with our surroundings, a shallow gorge appeared to the right of the trail. Boulders lined the floor of the gorge like giant cobbles. It was easy for us to imagine the tidal wave force it must have taken to move the smooth behemoths. Luckily, no water would flow down the mountain with that much force for some time yet. We were safe. Still�

If there�s one thing about hiking up a mountain that gets old in a hurry, it�s switchbacks. Another one of those necessary monsters took us away from the gorge and upward, where we climbed several more, seemingly endless ones until we were finally catapulted into a clearing.

What a view! The Dream Lake overlook was all that and more! We looked down into the glassy surface of the lake, feeling more like eagles perched high in a private aerie than hikers. We stared so long at the tiny lake that we almost didn�t notice the rest of the view. Through the wispy branches of the treetops, we caught our first glimpse of the Hallett�s summit from the upper elevations. It was majestic, resting stoically beneath a frosty cloak. We pushed onward, neither one of us saying a word, and cherishing the vision in our own, private way.

The path continued upward and into a subalpine wonderland. The trees, mostly fir, grew low to the ground and appeared misshapen and tortured. The trees all appear in miniature � munchkin sized! Willow and dwarf spruce creep along the ground, bowed low by the powerful winds that gust over the mountain tops. A little further, and even these few hardy specimens disappear.

It�s a whole different world at the alpine level. One where nature grabs hold and seeks out strongholds wherever she can. We were beyond treeline. Only scrawny patches of dense willow now poked their feathery heads out from between the rock from time to time, holding on for dear life. A little further and we came upon the Emerald Lake overlook. A speckle of its jewel namesake, the view was awesome! Straight down nearly 1,300 feet, as if someone had sliced off the piece of the mountain before us. A few dark trees dotted the shores of the lake, but for the most part it was circled by dark granite. It truly resembled a jewel from above.

Our thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, loud bark! Well, more like a squeak than a bark, really. Turning, we found ourselves eye to eye with a rotund marmot. Something of a cross between a beaver and a groundhog, and he lay on the nearby rock watching us. Every couple of minutes he�d repeat his demand, then wait, as if asking our intentions. More than likely though, the little fellow was asking for a handout. We encountered more than one of his brazen kin on the way, each one seemed to challenge us, desiring a toll of fruit or nuts for passing. But don�t give in to them, no matter how cute or cuddly they may seem. Just like all animals in the park, the marmots are wild. Any attempts to tame them with handouts can do nothing but harm in the long run.

We continued, and soon even the scrubby growth of trees vanished. Carefully, we crossed one of the remaining snowfields. Feeling the cold air rising above our hiking boots and caressing at our bare legs, we couldn�t help but smile. We crested another rise with renewed energy and arrived at the summit of our first mountain of the day: Flattop Mountain. But don�t let the name fool you. Flat as it appears to be, you still are climbing. We took advantage of the terrain though to have a quick lunch. We pulled ourselves up a boulder and dropped our packs. We nearly inhaled our peanut butter sandwiches and were pleasantly munching on our apples, before we really noticed what was around us (hunger seems to overtake you with a vengeance in the mountains!).

Flattop is covered in dark scree and hunkering boulders. Although, as barren as it seems to be, a closer look will reveal all sorts of plants seeking shelter among the rocks. It�s not uncommon in July to walk up an alpine slope and be greeted by a great carpet of color and texture, all clinging to miniature landscapes between the rocks. Even at 12,000 feet, life finds a way.

Nearly finished, we noticed the first of several small, white puffy clouds over the horizon. So, finishing off the rest of the apple, we loaded up our trash and hitched ourselves to the packs once more. Some people leave their packs at this point and make the rest of the climb unencumbered. We didn�t. It�s not that we were afraid of someone stealing our gear. Far from it. The other hikers we met on our trip were all very kind. I guess those of us who hike into the backcountry all share a kind of common bond � or, I guess some would consider it a common lunacy, for that matter. Either way, theft was not a concern. Finding the pack once it was sat down beside the boulders was! It looked awfully easy to lose a pack among the crevasses separating one boulder from another. And in fact, we had heard stories confirming our fears before we even left for the trail. So no matter how inviting it sounded, Joan and I didn�t relish misplacing our gear. The landscape looks desolate, to say the least, and there is no trail to lead you up to the summit of Hallet. There are some cairns, left behind by other well-meaning hikers, but these are many and there really is no set way to pick your way through them. So, gathering our gear, we sat off thorough the forest of boulders, trailblazing our way to the top.

We traversed the ridge supporting Tyndall Glacier and couldn�t resist a look down. Inching forward, past the sign warning those of us getting too close to the edge that it could prove hazardous to our health, we looked over what appeared to be the edge of the world. The glacier stretched out before us. Like a blanket draped on only a portion of the chasm, where the glacier retreated a deep gorge was left in its wake, scraped out between two mountains as if a giant had used a large ice-cream scoop. Far below, two glimmering lakes winked at us.

Moving forward, we began the final ascent of the peak. Thankfully, this last stretch isn�t too long. But believe me, it�s probably the most difficult. The summit is divided into four or five cascades. They�re not very obvious, but they�re there, all right. Picking our way over the sharp boulders was no easy feat, but we crossed over one level, then another. It seemed the tiers grew in number the more we climbed. As we crossed over one particularly difficult level, I heard Joan ask for the third time, "are we there yet?" We were. The climb itself had kept our attention close to our feet. Now, standing on the summit, we were stunned at what our eyes registered. We were in a wonderland. To the southeast was the legendary Longs Peak, its great summit pushing through the clouds at 14,256 feet and throwing its considerable shadow across numerous other smaller peaks and lakes. Beside it were the soaring buttresses of Keyboard of the Winds. To me it didn�t look like a keyboard at all. More like an ancient dragon�s backbone, fossilized and laid bare by eons of wind and sun. Further to the south, we actually caught a glimpse of Pikes Peak. Our view lay unbroken for miles in every direction, making it impossible to count all of the lakes which lay like sparkling gemstones scattered about at random.

We lingered, plopped ourselves down on the most comfortable rock we could find, and enjoyed the view. The rock we found overlooked Tyndall Glacier � by a thousand feet. So there we were, swinging our feet out over the ancient glacier bed and reveling in the wind as it playfully tugged at our clothes � and forgetting about anything and everything else in the world. The mountains have a way of doing that. They take you in and somehow, you become a part of them, and they of you. They weave their magic through your body until their soul and yours become one.

It didn�t take very long for the sweatshirts and jackets to come out. We watched as the clouds formed and bundled on the horizon, and finally began rolling in our direction. The temperature dropped at least fifteen degrees in the same span of minutes. Within twenty, those same clouds were rolling up the mountain. And within thirty minutes, we were completely encompassed by a soft, gray cloud which deposited its condensation on our skin and clothes. Although a little wet, and even more cool, we still smiled and laughed like a couple of school kids.

We wore our grins like proud badges and began our descent. As much fun as we were having, we maintained enough good sense to know that we didn�t want to have make our way down the mountain on slippery rocks. So we snapped a few pictures, took in the vistas once more, and quietly departed by the same way we came. We were sorry to leave, but nothing could remove the lightness in our hearts for having made it to the top. We were taking much with us on our return home, memories to keep us going until the next hike � wherever that may be.

Hanging Out In The Clouds

by David W. Bard

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