On the way to the campground, we took what was described in a certain guidebook (and by a certain other person in this family) to be "short," "easy," and "beautiful" hike to a lake.
Beautiful: yes.
Short: I'll concede to short. It was about a mile.
Easy: Um, no. The mile was straight uphill. Up, up and away.
So on the way up this mile, I began to get grouchy, very very grouchy. I generally get at least somewhat grouchy at some point during most hikes, around the same time I run out of breath. But I also usually get over the grouchiness very quickly, either by slowing down, taking a break, or getting Dean to encourage me. He is a pro at making it sound like we really are almost there. But this time, I think I was discouraged by the fact that this "easy" hike was so brutal. Finally I realized that Dean was very out of breath too. The guide book's author, quite simply, is a dirty liar.
To be fair, it really was a short hike. And I suspect that if I did the same hike today I wouldn't think it was quite as hard, because I am more used to climbing up Colorado's various slopes. But at the time it was really hard. Note to guide book authors: short and easy are not the same thing. I will take a long, flattish hike over a short, steep one any day. Not that I am likely to find a long, flat hike anywhere around here. Unless I can convince Dean that we need to hike the eastern plains...
Anyway, it also really was a beautiful hike. There were tons of wildflowers.
And toadstools.
And this cave.
And the lake was very beautiful. The water in these Rocky Mountain lakes is very clear.
When we got to the lake, Amelia and I had a little picnic while Dean climbed to the top of the ridge above the lake, so he could see over the Continental Divide. Then we went down, down, down, and made our merry way to the campground.
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