Monarch Lake Trail and Adams Falls
There is nothing quite like waking up inside the cozy comfort of the Weanas to start your day off right — and that is exactly what Scott and I did on Friday morning.
We unzipped the Weanas and crawled out. While we waited for Sara and Joey to stir, we sat at the campsite and looked out over the South Fork of the Colorado River, watching the early morning birdlife it attracted — most notably, ospreys.
This portion of the river feeds into the Lake Granby reservoir system, which has the highest concentration of ospreys in the entire state of Colorado, as the lake is packed with salmon and trout. Everywhere you looked you would see their huge, sprawling nests — many the size of an 18-wheeler tire — and they seemed to favor building on top of telephone and power poles.
Eventually we got coffee going, and Joey cooked breakfast for us: eggs and bacon on the Blackstone. It hit the spot. We all pitched in and cleaned up, then headed off to the nearby Indian Peaks Wilderness — part of the Arapaho National Forest — for a hike around Monarch Lake.
We struck off and enjoyed about two hours of perfect weather: clear skies, beautiful lake views, and blessedly flat hiking — a relief after the last few hikes Scott and I had done on this trip.
Sara handled the hike like a champ. She was super excited that her ankle was holding up and couldn’t wait to tell her physical therapy team about her progress.
After we finished the Monarch Lake loop, we set up our picnic lunch lakeside at the trailhead and enjoyed the views a while longer.
Next on our agenda was Adams Falls, a 55-foot, multi-tiered waterfall just outside the town of Grand Lake and bordering Rocky Mountain National Park — a short drive from where we were.
The hike itself was quick, under half a mile, and we reached the falls in no time. Because of the drought and how late it was in the summer, not much water was flowing, but the falls were still a sight to see. The creek cut through a rocky canyon, and we could all imagine how the falls would look in spring, in full force with the snowmelt.
We drove back into the quaint town of Grand Lake next. Both Scott and Joey decided the lake itself was calling their names, so they changed into their swim trunks and bravely waded into the icy water. It had turned cloudy and overcast and was threatening to rain, which made the lake seem even chillier, but they were undeterred. Both gamely stayed in the cold water for several minutes before hopping out and joining Sara and me on the dock. She and I had decided that putting just our feet in was good enough.
We were all still full from our picnic lunch but decided to grab a pizza in Grand Lake to take back for dinner at the campsite. This turned out to be a splendid decision — not only would it save us a trip out later, but the pizza was fantastic. We enjoyed it around the burn-ban-approved propane fire ring.
Saint Mary’s Glacier and Indian Hot Springs
Scott and I were sad to say goodbye to the Weanas on Saturday morning when we broke down camp, but like all good things, this too had come to an end. We thanked it for its hospitality and its ability to handle some good-natured ribbing about its funny name as we lovingly packed it away into its storage bag.
Sara, Scott, and I were headed to see Saint Mary’s Glacier that day. Joey unfortunately wouldn’t be joining us, because he had to recharge his EV (a Hyundai) in order to make it back to the Denver area.
The hike was rocky and uphill, but Sara’s ankle felt strong and stable, and we made it to St. Mary’s Lake in very little time. We noticed a bunch of people gathered around, taking pictures of what turned out to be a bull moose!
The moose didn’t seem to mind all the people milling around it (most kept a safe distance, but I was wary, because I have seen too many videos of moose chasing people when they get big mad) and carried on with its business of munching on shrubs without a care in the world.
After we got some pictures, we carried on with our hike, continuing to peek periodically at him over our shoulders in the distance. As we made our way up the slope above the lake, we watched the moose casually saunter to the water’s edge, wade up to its knees, and — after drinking for a bit — just stand there, seeming to enjoy the water for quite a while.
We hiked up the hill a bit, but decided to abandon our mission after speaking with a skier on his way down from the slope, who reported that there was nearly zero snow or ice to be seen in the ice field.
In fact, just a few weeks after we got home, I read an article reporting that for the first time in over a century, the glacier had melted entirely — citing the unusually dry winter and the record-hot summer.
On our descent, Scott got some wonderful shots of the bull moose, who by this time had returned to his moose bed (that is a literal term for where they hang out and sleep, FYI) and was relaxing with his lakefront views.
We got back to the car and headed toward Arvada, to the Indian Hot Springs, where we’d meet a hopefully fully recharged Joey. They had told us about the hot spring, which was now home to a historic geothermal spa. The spa had cut caves into the mountains and built Roman-style soaking tubs for guests to stew in.
They were divided by gender, so Sara and I said goodbye to Scott and headed down to the women’s portion for a soak. (Joey had opted out and was just napping in the waiting area.)
We changed into our bathing suits, showered, then headed into the caves.
I savored the hot mineral water soothing the legs that had carried me over miles and miles of rugged Colorado terrain these past 10 days. When I couldn’t stand the heat anymore — sure I would pass out — I would get out, take a cold shower, then return for another cycle.
Eventually Sara and I decided we had soaked long enough, climbed out, and took our final shower. We changed and headed back upstairs to reunite with the boys.
It was time to head back to their townhome in Arvada. On the drive home, we decided to watch The Shining that night as an homage to the Stanley Hotel — and did just that while enjoying a bucket of spaghetti takeout from their favorite Italian restaurant.
Homeward Bound
Sadly, that was our last day. Sara and Joey were kind enough to drop us curbside at the Denver airport. We hugged and thanked them for an amazing time, already plotting the next reunion — hopefully in October, when they would come to South Carolina for Sara’s father’s birthday celebration.
We had built-in time for a airport lounge visit since we had passes, and wandered around gathering various food and drink to enjoy while we waited for our flight.
We had smooth travels home, and my parents were waiting at GSP to whisk us off to lunch. Between bites we regaled them with the whole saga — the Topaz Murder Lodge we somehow survived, the rainbow we chased for half an hour, Scotty B’s perfect scheduling, a tent with a very funny name, and a bull moose who couldn’t have cared less about any of us.
“Trip’s over,” Scotty B said. “Time to plan the next one.” And he meant it — October, when the reunion comes to our neck of the woods in South Carolina. We came for the mountains, but we’re leaving with the people: Doug and his twenty years of Telluride know-how, and Sara and Joey, who housed us, fed us, and hiked along with us. Dear reader, if there’s a lesson in all this wandering, it’s that goodbye is never quite goodbye — it’s just the next adventure, penciled into the spreadsheet.
