Tag: Hell Canyon

It wasn’t the easy way out of the predicament. But we chose the more physically painful of the two options, climbed up the steep ridge, then over the saddle that led us out of Paradise Park and down into Hell Canyon.

    What follows is the story of how the situation unfolded:

The group went to work busily, setting up tents and preparing our backcountry campsite. It was the theoretical end to a long day of backpacking. We were in the Colorado mountains at a remote location in Rocky Mountain National Park called Paradise Park. And before organizing my gear, I did one of the more essential things outdoor adventure guides should do before leading a group into the wilds. I took the guidebook out of my backpack and read about where we were setting up camp. There was no ambiguity in what I read: “There is no overnight camping allowed anywhere in Paradise Park.” Initially, I might have been reading it wrong, so I re-read it. But the second time around, the words were the same. And I realized that if we stayed, we’d not only be violating federal regulations but also likely be doing something environmentally detrimental. And so, I concluded we needed to move.

The teenagers were methodically getting things ready for supper and the night ahead. I couldn’t help but note how physically wasted they all looked as I yelled, “Oh, shit!” At that point, it no longer mattered that we’d backpacked and bushwhacked for 6 hours, our legs were tired, or we thought we were at our destination- because we needed to move our campsite.

Thankfully, we were only about a half-mile away from the southwestern boundary of the Park. On the topo map, I noted a pass on the ridge to our south, which we could cross to exit the National Park and enter the Indian Peaks Wilderness. More specifically, it would take us to the high mountain backcountry basin known as Hell Canyon. The place’s name didn’t sound particularly inviting. But I was pleased to know there was somewhere nearby we could move to where we could camp without causing physical harm to the area.

My scream caused the brakes to be applied to the campsite set-up operation. So, for the moment, there was a pause in the activity as everyone waited to find out what the commotion was about.

After my initial attention-getting blurt out, I said calmly, “We can’t stay here; there’s no camping allowed.”

I recognized that I should’ve figured out the camping situation before traipsing 15 miles into the backcountry with them. But I knew that worrying about it wouldn’t help rectify a situation that needed rectifying. It was 5:00 in the afternoon, and I figured we had about three more hours of daylight left and would need every bit of it to reach another suitable spot to set up tents and have a pleasant supper. And so, I accepted the reality that we had to get moving and that it needed to happen sooner rather than later.

Looking around at the various group members, I could see they were, in turn, looking out at our nearby surroundings. It was evident they were trying to figure out where the actual Paradise Park boundary lay and, thus, where we needed to go. I began explaining the situation and realized that most of the teenagers were mentally preparing themselves for something much easier than what needed to happen. Just the irritation of having to pack their stuff back up and move a few hundred yards before eating supper would be plenty painful. But little did they know…

After a few long moments of looking around, one of the group members said, “Where to?”

I didn’t say anything initially because I didn’t have the heart. But I did look up at the not-so-distant pass. Everyone turned and looked up to where my eyes were pointing, and there was a profound moment of silence as it all began to soak in.

And so, I verbalized the new plan. While pointing up toward the pass, I said, “The boundary between the National Park and the Indian Peaks Wilderness is along that ridge. There’s a pass up there between those two peaks. If we climb up and cross it, according to the topo, we can just walk down from there into a place called Hell Canyon. It looks like there are all kinds of climbing down there, some lakes, and a trail that’ll take us back pretty close to where we ultimately need to get to at the end of the trip. We ought to be able to get up and over the pass and set up camp before dark if we get moving now. So, let’s go!”

The silence continued after I finished speaking. I wanted to think it was because everyone was busy developing thoughtful, efficient personal move plans. But more than likely, it was because they were attempting to process their disbelief. I don’t think anyone was all that interested in the fishing, climbing, or backcountry options in Hell Canyon. But I do believe that some of them thought it was a cruel joke.

After a few minutes, everyone came to grips with the reality of the moment and just began re-packing. I felt terrible about the situation and was also tired. But once we were packed up and moving, I felt only their positive energy, not the lethargy and fatigue I expected. I watched as 12 ordinary people headed out toward an unknown destination, their energy coming from somewhere I couldn’t see. In an instant, each became a sort of unassuming superhuman.

With the sun creeping down in the western sky, we crossed over the pass and began the descent into a place we’d known nothing about a few hours before. Mount Hiamovi dominated the eastern sky, and Upper Stone Lake shone like a mirror to our south and a thousand feet below. A pleasant tundra-covered slope cut through massive rock outcroppings to either side. It provided straightforward access to our new world. Before we knew it, we walked out on a boulder and saw only clear sailing ahead as we transitioned from going up to going down.

It turns out that the place we went is known as one of the wildest and most spectacular places in North America. Few people get there because it’s so remote and hard to reach. I witnessed an intriguing power and wild spirit in the place and the people during that late afternoon. It suddenly became clear to me just how remarkable and capable humanity and nature are.

And to think—it wasn’t even somewhere any of us had planned to go that day.

Backcountry