On a beautiful day in the Colorado mountains, we decided to go for a leisurely hike. My mother, my father, my aunt, my cousin, my boyfriend, and I had just arrived in Colorado at an altitude of ten thousand feet and, as we do every year when we go to Colorado, we planned to hike to Judd Falls. Less than a mile from the trailhead, Judd Falls was a pristine waterfall that provided an easy hike to acclimate to the altitude. The weather was flawless; the cool mountain air, the warm sun, and the crisp breeze coming off of the peaks created the ideal atmosphere for a short hike. We ensured that we were equipped with enough water and snacks for the quick hike, and we hopped in my mom's Tahoe.
The scenic drive to the trailhead was exquisite. The road was carved into the mountain, so it was surrounded by trees, flowers, and the mountains themselves. Once at the trailhead, we quickly stretched and headed up the trail. Because we had only been in the mountains for a day, we were not yet comfortable hiking in the high altitude, but we made it to Judd Falls with no incident. The waterfall was beautiful, as it was every year. We stopped and posed for the traditional Judd Falls family photo, and prepared for the simple hike back.
As we walked back towards the trail, my boyfriend, Mitch, noticed a trail sign noting that four miles down another trail was Copper Lake. We had walked the one mile trail in half an hour, so the four mile hike should only take four hours round trip. We were not exhausted, and the weather was still great. Our group started to discuss the possible hike, when my father decided that we should go. He started walking up the trail to Copper Lake, and we followed him up.
The trail started just as the last one had. There was a slight incline, some rocks, and a few hills, but nothing difficult. The scenery along the trail seemed more beautiful than it was along the first trail. We assumed that the Copper Lake trail was less traveled. My aunt, a science teacher, and I photographed and identified the wildflowers along the trail. There were several creeks that ran across the trail, so we had to find some way to get across. Most of our group made it across the creeks by climbing over rocks and fallen trees. My aunt, however, was forced to wade across every creek because she did not possess the balance necessary to climb across the rocks and trees. At every creek, my aunt removed her hiking boots and socks, and waded across. I, therefore, had time to photograph more flowers as we waited for my aunt to cross. At every creek I found gentians, a rare wildflower that my aunt and I had never seen before. We were amazed and elated at our find. These flowers, we thought, would make the hike worth the extra time.
We continued, remembering the trail was only four miles long. As we crossed yet another creek, we met a man who was sitting by the water with his two sons and a backpack that was only slightly smaller than he was.
"I think it's only two more miles to Copper Lake," he said, "so you're half way there."
His statement made us very happy, because at that point we were beginning to tire of walking. Two more miles, though, did not seem that far, so we continued walking up the increasingly inclined trail. The hike became harder after that. The incline was steeper, the rocks were more prevalent, and the hills were almost vertical.
"Two more miles," my mom reminded us.
My aunt agreed, "Yes, only two more miles."
After that point, we relied upon the information that we only had two miles left. An hour later, we knew that we would only have to go another mile. But another hour went by, and we were still scaling the steep, rocky hills. It appeared that we were actually climbing up the side of the mountain. As we were taking a short break, to catch our breath, two hikers came down the hill ahead of us.
My cousin, David, asked them what we were all thinking, "How much farther is it to Copper Lake?"
"It isn't too much farther," one of the hikers reassured us, "another two or three miles."
That statement alone left us in a state near depression, but the other hiker's statement was much worse.
"When you feel like you are about to die, you're almost there."
The worst part about his statement was that we already felt that were almost dead, and yet we were still two or three miles away. We realized then that the trail sign at Judd Falls was cruelly incorrect. We later approximated the length of the trail to be closer to seven miles, not four. Unfortunately for us, my family does not know when to give up. We had started the hike, and so we must finish it. Thus, we continued along the trail. Though David's feet were blistered, and we were almost out of water, we could not turn back until we had reached Copper Lake.
After every hill, we expected to see a lake. However, at the top of every hill that we scaled, was another hill. Our breaks became more frequent. Mitch, David, and I began to essentially run up hills, just to stop at the top and prepare ourselves for yet another hill. We passed another couple coming from the lake, and they informed us that they had left their campsite thirty minutes before. We began to regain our hope. We ran up hill after hill, and stopped less often. We were akin to wanderers in a desert, constantly hearing the water that we knew was close. Wind blowing through the trees sounded like waves of water, and that false hope simply made us walk quicker.
When we truly felt that we could go no further, Mitch and David stopped and sat down upon a rock. I, however, looked up the hill and decided to continue. I trudged up the hill, my legs and lungs burning. Walking up the hill, with my head hung low, I almost missed the sign showing a map of the campsites surrounding the lake. As I traced the trail on the map I realized that finally, we were almost there.
I yelled back to my companions, "Mitch! David! We're almost there!"
They did not reply, so I ran ahead. The land flattened out and became less rocky, until I came upon a rocky hill. I made it to the top of the hill and saw what was then the most beautiful sight that I could have ever seen. The jade lake lay in front of me, at the base of two mountains. The rest of my family eventually joined me by the lake. We ate our cheese and crackers in extreme relief. Looking at our watches, we realized that over four hours had gone by since we started along the Copper Lake trail.
Looking back at the lake, we started our hike back. What took us four hours to climb up, took us two hours going down. We stopped only twice on the hike back. The rest of the time, we went as fast as we could without falling down the rocky path. When we were almost at Judd Falls, it began to rain. We donned our ponchos, and trekked on. We did not stop until we reached the trailhead and my mom's Tahoe.
We later found that even avid hikers do not hike to Copper Lake more than once. When we mentioned our hike to a white water guide, who had lived in Colorado for over fifteen years, he did not speak of the trail fondly.
"That was the hike from hell," he exclaimed, "it seems like it never ends!"
We agreed. Though we hiked up to the peak of a mountain, at an altitude of over twelve thousand feet, the hike to Copper Lake was still the most difficult and exhausting hike that we have ever endured. Though Copper Lake was indeed exquisite, and the gentians rare, the hike was not worth the extra time and effort.