Columbine Lake

Columbine Lake

Two days after my lovely hike to Island and Ice Lakes, I found myself excitedly driving to the trailhead of another alpine lake. The hike to Columbine Lake wasn’t as long, nor as much elevation gain as the Ice and Island Lakes Loop, but it was still 8+ miles and 2,800’ of elevation gain—nothing crazy, but not exactly a stroll in the park either. I knew that almost all of the elevation gain took place within the first two miles, so I was prepared for a steep start. 

The sun was out, the wildflowers were beginning to bloom, it was an absolutely glorious day for a hike and, even with those challenging first couple miles, it was smooth sailing all the way.

As I was approaching the lake, I saw a woman in the distance heading back down the trail with her dog. The dog was off-leash and appeared to be very well behaved, but the woman leashed up the dog as soon as she saw me approaching. I called to her, “no need to leash your dog up for me, I’m not worried if you’re not.” She said thanks, but she had actually spotted a dog in the group behind me that she was leashing up for. I laughed off my blunder, said “enjoy the rest of your hike” and we headed off in opposite directions. 

The lake was as beautiful as I could have imagined, with crystal blue water, snowy peaks surrounding it and ice floating on top for a little extra photography flair. I snapped some photos, had a snack and, of course, went for a swim. The water was both freezing and glorious. Yes, both can be true at the same time.

I twisted my ankle on the way down, but otherwise got back to my van without incident.

That night I stayed at a dispersed campsite that my new friend from Durango had suggested. When I arrived at camp I got settled, set up my lawn chair and began reading my book in the afternoon sun. I noticed a van parked at another site not far from me, and while I hadn’t seen the owner yet, I did notice a dog hop out every once in a while. I secretly schemed to meet it at some point. 

I was still in my chair reading, when a woman stepped out of the van, hauled her bicycle out after her, shut the door and began riding past my campsite and towards the main road. As she rode past I waved hello and she did the same. I turned back to my book when, from behind I hear, “wait… are you Jake?” 

My brain skipped a beat.

I replied, “yes I am… but how’d you know that?!” 

It turns out that she also knew about that campsite from my (our) friend from Durango, who had mentioned that I may be camping there too. 

Small world. 

We chatted for a while and at some point she referenced a beautiful lake that she and her dog had hiked to earlier. I asked, “which lake?” 

“Columbine” she replied. 

And at almost the same moment it clicked in both of our brains… “wait, I remember passing you guys!” I said.

“You were the guy that told me not to worry about my dog off leash!” she exclaimed. 

It was serendipity to the max.

In the end, I eagerly offered (begged) her to leave her dog with me while she went on her bike ride, and over the next few days her dog, Dilly, and I became best buds. He is still the strongest connection I’ve had to a dog since Rosie passed. And it was lovely. 

The next day, our mutual friend from Durango joined us at camp and we all hiked Handies Peak together—my first official 14er. And yes, Dilly was right there with us. 

“Climb the mountain not to plant your flag, but to embrace the challenge, enjoy the air and behold the view. Climb it so you can see the world, not so the world can see you.” — David McCullough Jr.

P.S. While there are a bunch in Colorado, there are less than one-hundred 14ers in the United States. So, even though Handies is pretty tame for a 14er, it was still an exciting and fulfilling achievement. Teaser: it wouldn't be my last 14er on this trip.

P.P.S. To clarify, in Nepal I hiked the Thorong La Pass, a towering 17,769’ above sea-level, which is the highest I’ve ever hiked, but it is a mountain pass, not a summit. So even though I had hiked higher than 14,000’ before, Handies Peak was my first 14er summit. A relatively inconsequential technicality, but one worth clarifying.