My first solo backpacking trip
5 days in Rocky Mountain National Park
Before anything, I want to thank my friends Brandon, Ellen, Jav, Mitch, Olivia, and Ryan. They lent me gear, made sure I was safe, and Mitch took multiple hours from his week to drive me to and from the trailhead. Without them this trip would not have been possible!
A map of my route is available here. If you are looking to do a similar trip do not hesitate to reach out (machstg@gmail.com).
Sunday: I Can’t Cook Rice
6:30am. I wake to a knock on my window. Mitch stands outside, ready to drive me to the trailhead. As expected, my body, running on 1.5 hours of sleep, did not wake up to my alarm. I had spent yesterday, packing, buying food, borrowing gear, and co-hosting my goodbye party—my next 5 days would mark the end of my 5-month stay in Boulder, Colorado. If all went well, my next 5 days would also mark my first ever solo camping trip and first multi-night backpacking trip.
Mitch and I stop by the park office to grab my permits on our way to the trailhead. For the first (but not the last) time today, I fear that my trip might be over prematurely. The park ranger informs me that I booked the campsites for the wrong week! Already thinking of how sad (and embarrassing) it would be to return from my trip without having set foot in the park, I ask if campsites are still available. Luckily, the same (and better) campsites are.
Still a bit shaken by my nearly disastrous mistake, Mitch drops me off at the trailhead. We joke about how heavy my pack is and how I might come back as a zombie-like mountain man with glazed eyes and no social skills. He wishes me luck and drives off to meet some out-of-town friends that were visiting him that day.
My hike starts by following the Big Thompson River upstream. Along the way, I pass a small waterfall and some pretty fields of wildflowers in which I spot a humming bird! After 6h of hiking, I reach Lost Lake where I make camp and set up my tarp and hammock.
Trouble starts when I try to cook my rice for dinner. Instead of a traditional backpacking stove, I had bored a “solo stove” from a friend. This stove runs on twigs and sticks instead of gas canisters. My friend’s instructions were short: “It’s just like a campfire”. But with only damp wood from the day of fog, I struggle to light the stove. For over an hour, I try various combinations of twigs, dryer lint and drops of the alcohol fuel I reserved as an emergency backup. But no success! To make matters worse, the fog turns to hail.
Frustrated and hungry, I crouch under my tarp to avoid the hail and run through my options. I could try—for the 6th time—to start a fire. Or I could use my emergency backup fuel on Day 1 and risk being unable to cook anything for the rest of my trip. I once again wonder if this is how my trip will end. With no other option, I bite the bullet, light my small canister of backup fuel and cook my rice.
But the karma gods weren’t done with me yet. As my rice finally reaches a boil, I reach for the lid and knock the pot over! Rice spills into the dirt. I scramble to put out the flame to avoid wasting any more of my precious fuel. Stunned, bordering anger, I eventually collect myself and boil another pot of rice.
Finally, the rice is ready! Starving, I stuff a fork load of it into my mouth only to immediately spit out the scorching hot food. The situation is so comical I laugh out loud. I hurriedly chop the spring onions and garlic while the rice cools and add an assortment of powdered spices. The result is plain rice punctuated by strong chunks of raw garlic—a disgusting meal that my starving self gulps down. The dish’s only silver lining is the salted pistachios that I find added a nice “crunch”.
Having used half of my emergency fuel supply, I decide that tomorrow’s instant oatmeal will be eaten cold. I lie down in my hammock and try to write in my journal but within a paragraph my writing slurs and I fall asleep.
Monday: Icefield Impass
Today’s objective: summit Hague’s Peak (4133m), the highest peak of the mountain range.
I wake up at 5am, eat some cold instant oatmeal and head up the trail at 6:10am. “Trail” is not quite accurate since the next few days would be spent mostly off-trail. I would navigate using only my map and compass.
The first stop to reach Hague’s Peak is Icefield Pass: a steep slope covered in snow and ice. I heard of two accounts saying that the icefield was passable by hiking around its side. I approach the pass, meandering my way through alpine lakes, tundra and finally a boulder field.
Something is wrong. There are no gaps. Snow spans the pass buttress-to-buttress. I consider ascending the icefield itself but quickly realize doing so would be suicide. On the slightest of inclines, my feet are already sliding. I can’t imagine having any success on the 30° slope without crampons. I frantically scan the nearby gullies for a path up to the ridge. Every gully looks at best hazardous and at worst outright impossible. I start ascending a scree field leading to the most promising gully but quickly turn around due to loose rock and the fear of the even steeper sections that lay ahead. I’m forced to accept that I will not summit Hague’s Peak. Thankfully, this isn’t my first failed summit attempt this year.
This setback leaves me grappling with a bigger problem: tomorrow’s campsite is on the other side of Icefield Pass. If I can’t cross it, I can’t make it to my reserved campsite. I figure my best option is to take a large detour to avoid Icefield Pass and instead cross the mountain range at Row Peak: a remote 4000 m summit. I remember reading one online account saying it was possible. If I’m wrong, I will have no campsite to sleep at.
I spend the rest of the day exploring different access routes that I think will lead to Row Peak. I find a beautiful rushing river (and another icefield) along the way. Eventually, menacing clouds end my exploration and I head back to camp.
I manage to start a camp stove fire for dinner and eat some delicious pesto pasta with Gooda cheese and carrots. I planned to add (cooked) garlic and spices to the pasta but my hunger did not give me the time. After dinner, I sit by Lost Lake and write a poem in my journal. I fall asleep thankful that it only rained for an hour that day.
Tuesday: Success and Burnt Forests!
I wake up to my 2am alarm. Knowing that I had hours of off-trail hiking at high altitude, I couldn’t afford to wake up any later. I quickly pack my hammock, sleeping bag and tarp, grab the bear barrel and head up the faint forest trail.
In the darkness and with multiple fallen logs, I lose the path a few times before exiting the forest. The faint trail ends and I now beeline across the tundra for the river crossing I found during yesterday’s exploration. I turn off my headlamp to appreciate the starry night and let myself be guided by the moonlight. I make good time to where I had stopped exploring yesterday. From here onwards, it’s new terrain. I’ve heard of two paths to Rowe Peak: following the river to reach Rowe Glacier, or along the east ridge. The ridge route is more exposed to weather and adds elevation, however, after a lot of indecision I opt for it anyways. Navigating the uneven terrain near the river would take too long. As I slowly ascend to 4000m, the sun’s rays appear on the horizon.
I finally turn onto the last stretch of the ridge only to find a tall cloud straight ahead of me. It’s only 7am and I’m already worried about the risk of thunder! I pause briefly for cold instant oatmeal. Suddenly, I notice the noise of a helicopter. It flies by and swoops around the nearby Hague’s peak where multiple silhouettes are standing. Is this a rescue? Not wanting to spend too long on the exposed ridge, I hike down into Rowe Glacier. What seemed from a distance like an impassible steep boulder field turns out to be a very doable series of quasi-ledges that I ascend in switchback style with minimal exposure to the drop. I summit Rowe Peak and I’m greeted by a beautiful view of the Colorado Rockies.
I snack at the summit and watch the helicopter visit Hague’s peak many more times, although now with a dangling cable. I don’t notice any stretchers so I hope the operation isn’t a rescue.
On my way down the mountain’s backside, I spot two mountain goats. We curiously stare at each other.
When I reach the treeline, I notice a forest fire has burnt the forest. The experience is surreal. Massive wood skeletons stand tall coated in charcoal black. I make my way through them, careful to not disturb the often unstable trunks.
As I regain a trail, I hear a large animal to my left running away. I turn to look but only see thick branches swaying in the animal’s tracks. Part of me hopes it wasn’t a bear while part of me hope it was meaning that bears find me scary. I reach camp just past noon, eat lunch and take a nap in the hammock.
I make the most delicious pasta ever for dinner by letting carrots, mint, garlic, and mustard seeds boil in the water with the pasta (ok, maybe the pasta made by that Italian family on a 3-day sailing race was better). Happy with my meal and the fact I only heard thunder once today, I pack up and find a spot overlooking Mirror Lake. I write a poem titled “We live in paradise” and head to bed at 8:30pm.
Wednesday: A Day of Unneeded Fear
I wake up at 2am again and I’m on the trail 45 minutes later. I am hoping that my early start allows me to cross the high-altitude plateau well before noon—when storms can first roll in. I planned a route last night that would take me back through the burnt forest before turning right to follow a creek upslope. For the first hour or two, I would be following the traces of an old unmaintained trail.
I pass the spot where yesterday I heard the maybe-bear, worried It might still be there. Thankfully, nothing. I press on and reach the burnt forest. Walking between the dead tree trunks makes me feel as if I am in a game of Slender Man. I manage to not lose the faint trail, only needing to double back a few times. However, as I transition to grasslands, the difference between game trails and the hiking trail becomes unclear. I end up bush waking through shrubs to eventually reach the creek. I turn right and head upslope only to find that the hiking trail was 10 m away from me the whole time!
As I continue upwards, I am quickly blocked by shoulder-high shrubs. I had expected tundra like yesterday, not wetlands! I slowly meander upwards using game trails between the shrubs and rock fields where possible.
As I pop over a ridge, I spot two moose straight ahead. We stare at each other before they gallop away.
I push further upwards, searching for a route that would help me avoid the wetlands. Reluctantly, I realize that the wetlands are everywhere, unavoidable.
I descend into another shrub-filled valley only to realize that the two moose are watching me from above. Their unflinching stares scare the shit out of me. I remember the park ranger mentioning she was more afraid of moose than bears so I cross the wetland as quickly as possible. However, as I progress the wetland becomes a marsh with ankle-deep water. Afraid of the moose, I storm forwards and get my feet soaked. Without stopping to look back, I stumble through the dense bushes, fall over a few times and eventually make out of the valley onto the opposing ridge. I look back. The moose are staring curiously at me. They haven’t moved and seem to be wondering what kind of idiot I am.
As I cross the ridge, another fear grips me. As for as I can see into the distance: more tall dense bushes. By now, the sun has risen and time is ticking. Packs of clouds are rolling in over head pushed by a strong scary wind. If I had to trudge my way through those bushes, I’d never make it to the plateau by noon. I download a weather report on my Garmin In-Reach: clear sunny skies all day. The clouds above me beg to differ. Frightened, I push along and consider plan Bs. Hike back down, and around the entire mountain range for probably 20+ hours? Hike to a trailhead and ask Mitch to pick me up a day early?
My panic peaks when I reach the end of a drainage system that I thought would lead me out of the bushes into a boulder field. But, separating me from the boulder field is 30 m of the thickest bushes I have seen today. I try pushing through but I am immediately spit out as I tumble in the head high shrubs. I try passing the bushes on the right but the same thing happens. I go left and follow the thick bushes for a while, always 30 m away from freedom. Eventually, I find a gap, reach the boulder field, hike for another hour and make it to the plateau.
The moment I reach the plateau the sky clears. I feel dumb for all the panic. It’s only 9am after all and lightning almost never strikes before 2 pm. I finally stop for breakfast before heading for camp and the safety of the treeline. I pass a deer as I exit the plateau.
I make pasta again, this time with sun-dried tomatoes and liquid cheese from a carton. I should’ve known that liquid cheese in a carton would be disgusting. Other than the food, my afternoon alone at my campsite is wonderful and peaceful. I feel adapted and comfortable in the backcountry. Part of me wishes tonight wasn’t my last night. I bathe in the river and go to sleep feeling clean.
Thursday: Reflections on the Trip
I wake up at 5am and make the short 2.5h hike back to the trailhead. With still an hour to spare before Mitch picks me up, I have some time to reflect. Some thoughts cross my mind:
I am incredibly proud and impressed with myself for the relatively smooth trip. I feel more capable all-around with being in the backcountry and especially with off-trail navigation. I’m super excited for the upcoming trips I have planned, especially co-leading a University of Toronto Outing Club canoe trip.
I find there is something calming and relaxing to being alone in nature. I think the same could perhaps be achieved in a small group as long as the group is not “high energy”. Having enough days in the backcountry is essential, though.
Interestingly, I often imagined internal conversations between me and someone as I always do. However, during the trip those conversations, more than once, would strike me as bizarre when I realized there was no one else around to have such a conversation with. I would find this quite funny in the moment.
Before I manage to write any more in my journal, Mitch’s white pickup truck appears on the dirt road. As we drive to find breakfast, my first real food in what seems like forever, I tell him with excitement about my adventures. He tells me about his and updates me on the news: independent researchers were able to replicate the levitating property of the supposed superconductor!
Mitch kindly drives me throughout Boulder so that I can return the gear I borrowed and say my final goodbyes. As we then drive to the airport, I stare at the Boulder Flatirons and can’t help but feel incredibly lucky for haven gotten to live in such a beautiful place and haven gotten to make such incredible friendships and memories. I say goodbye to Mitch with a tentative plan to meet up in February for climbing. A few hours later, my plane takes off and I’m headed for Toronto.