Somebody Yell Timber!

story, photos and video by Lincoln Chapman

Timber Lake
Trail Type: Longer Hike
Trailhead: Timber Lake (west side of Rocky)
Trailhead Elevation: 9,054'
Destination Elevation: 11,088'
Total Elevation Gain: 2,060'
Total Roundtrip Miles: 10 

I'm not sure I've ever hiked a more adequately named trail in recent memory. I'm also fairly certain that I hadn't hiked this unprepared in several years. I hope to do the journey that was Timber Lake Trail justice with this piece. My hope is to explain the dangers, lessons and pitfalls my friend and I found along the path. I really hope this because I wouldn't want anyone else to have to find them for themselves. It was one of those adventures that's only really fun when you live to tell about it. Somebody yell “Timber!” (and mud, and snow, and scat and stones)
 
Timber Lake Trailhead is located on the west side of the Park, closer to Grand Lake than Estes park. The majority of guests enter RMNP through one of the east entrances, meaning they would get the pleasure – and some would say honor – of driving the majority of Trail Ridge Road to get to this trailhead. It's one of the most beautiful drives in thecountry and is built along much of the original Ute trail. It's an amazing drive and a great time sip coffee, hydrate, and eat to fill up before the hike. If you are entering from the Grand lake entrance you will experience less of the views provided by elevation elevation gain. No worries, though – my buddy and I passed at least a dozen buck elk with velvet antlers and two moose on our drive beyond the trailhead toward Grand Lake. The tunes were so good when we first pulled up to the trailhead parking lot, so we drove a bit further and looped around to hear a couple more songs.

Landslide debris covers the trail near mile-marker 2.

That action alone admittedly sets the stage for two twenty-somethings vibing too hard and planning too little. We were bangin' our heads out of the window to
the Kingston Trio, creating a new boost of false confidence with every song.

The first sign we saw at the trailhead indicating how difficult it might be (and the first sign we ignored) read “Active Landslide Area.” I’d heard of some flooding from the Colorado River on trails nearby, so I had a little bit of cautious restraint in the back of my head. However, we should have taken the time to drive to the visitor’s center nearby, to gather any information on the current status of the Timber Lake Trail. This was costly ignorance on my part; but we felt on top of the world coming down from Trail Ridge's apex. We didn't do much other than giggle at the warnings of landslides.

The trail runs about 5.3 miles to Timber Lake. It wasn't the lake's timber we needed to worry about, though. We reached our first obstacle at mile marker two: the landslide zone. It ran directly across the path, laid out in a pick-up-sticks style display of fallen trees. It was a bit of a maze just to get through and on top of that. It's remarkable how slick a fallen tree trunk can get. The possibility of a new landslide was our first fear but the wreckage of recent ones were what we had to face.

One wrong step and it could, “take our love and take it down.”

Scat from a large, wild cat along the trail

We maneuvered our way through the logs as slow as we could and high-fived on the other side. “Pfft, all downhill (metaphorically) from here” or something along those lines was certainly spoken. Never taunt the mountains with a sentiment of “pfft,” they will be happy to play that game. We made our way through two miles of lodgepole pine and changed the amount of layers we were wearing about five times in that stretch. It was cold, as early summer has been in the Park. Every half-mile would lead us to taking our jackets off and sipping water, but by the time we were ready to trek again we'd be a bit chilly. The high of the day was predicted to be 48 degrees and it was roughly 7a.m. at this point.
 
The forest is dense on this hike. It feels something like what I refer to as the “woods” back in my home state of Tennessee. “Woods'' are hard to come by in much of the east side of the Park. The west side, in particular Timber Lake Trail, is quite different and mysteriously thick.
 
Mysterious in the sense that you really don't have much of a deep look into what lies, breathes or eats beyond the trail itself. Noises seem to circle, bounce and echo. We hiked with bear spray as I would always suggest. It's much better to be prepared. Wow, there was one thing we did prepare.
 
On one of our water breaks, we sat catching our breath when I heard a growl and he heard a snapping branch. It was just one sound – we just interpreted it differently. We jumped up in Shaggy-and-Scooby- spooked fashion. We grabbed the bear spray and continued to move forward, alert. Again! He heard a big snort and I heard a massive flapping of wings.
 
One noise freaked out both of us, letting our minds get the best of us. We passed what appeared to be scat from a big cat just a half mile or so before, so that certainly wasn't helping. Moments later we both turned our heads in sync, noticing motion in the leaves. There it was. A tiny little grouse hopping along and then flying away. His wings made the loudest echoes, snorts and growls ever, ok?

The next mile or so was pleasantly uneventful, but it was steep. We had plenty of water which was a great thing because the third quarter of this hike is very taxing. It's the kind of steep that's gradual, seeming to never end. It’s just enough to wear you out, steadily. As we climbed, we became more aware of our breath.
Partly due to the upward slope, and partly because our breath was becoming more and more visible as the air got cold.
 
Snow patches started emerging on our left and our right and then little by little in the middle of the trail. We scampered across a couple six foot long snow piles and felt fine about it. We didn't need snowshoes for any of those, just a burst of energy to get across quickly. Nobody wants wet socks four miles into a 10-mile hike.
 
Snowshoes would've come in handy about a third of a mile away from the lake itself. Like, really handy. It's amazing to me that my friend and I trekked through the snow without proper footgear. The spurts of snow turned into deep accumulation covering the entire trail. We wouldn't have been able to stay on course had it not been for the footprints a brave hiker left before us.

We kept our gaze forward and upward toward the peaks, under which was Timber Lake. We followed the path of prints and kept moving forward.
 
The inches of snow that we had begun to master didn't stay at that depth for long. No, to be honest, I'm uncertain just how deep the snowpack went. In one heavy step at one point, I fell straight through down to my waist. I'd really like to believe that was the deepest it got.

The timber we had contorted through at mile two was now beneath us, covered in extremely sketchy snow. We decided to take a break from the snow and try something easier. Just left of the footprints, we began stepping from stone to stone. These were large boulders laid out in the most random patterns and heights. We carefully hopped from one to the next, trying to avoid the slick ones. We had to climb a few and use all four limbs.
 
We reached a peak among the stones and saw a portion of the end of the trail, somewhere beyond and through the trees. There weren't any more stones, just trees and snow ahead. We hopped back on to the trail (assuming the footsteps were following it) and powered through the snow. We were in shorts and sneakers trudging through the snow up to our knees​. We were so close.

Timber Lake in mid-June, 2023

​We powered through the brush and arrived at Timber Lake. We stood, huffing and puffing and taking it in for several minutes before saying anything. Our adrenaline had been pushed to new extremes on the way, and we both knew what the other was thinking. We shared a moment of silence and appreciation. We hydrated and replenished and laughed at our stupidity. It's easy to laugh at your own stupidity on the other side of it. Thank goodness we made it to the other side unscathed.
 
The lake was still frozen for the most part, and there was tons of snow along the mountain bowl that encapsulates it. The light hit the snow so insanely bright up there, we joked about seeing a new shade of white. The elevation made for wild cloud movements. The clouds literally rushed above the lake; stormy but unthreatening. The shadows moved across the snow and the mountain just as fast. It was magnificent.

Magnificently chaotic were the clouds and our experiences that day. We enjoyed the lake for a bit and then prepared to head back. We were more motivated than ever to start the hike back with the most difficult portion knocked out first. Our legs were beginning to feel like Jell-O and our patience was starting to wear thin, so we decided the stones weren't in our best interest on this go. We rushed through the snowpack. We found patches that only took our sopping wet feet an inch or so down into the snow and took other steps that shot our legs down to our knees in the cold. We made it through and the began the now-downhill stretch toward the scary noises.

The author takes a break at Timber Lake

We were at the point of our day where the feeling of being “over it” on a hike was welcomed. After pushing through that stage, the feeling of accomplishment set in. We made it back to the first pile of fallen timber and laughed at how easy it felt compared to the rest. The hike came to an end and we wrung out our socks. It was the ultimate feeling of relief.
 
Take it from me: please do your due diligence and research your hikes before you go. Stop by the visitor’s center and hear from a ranger themselves just what to expect. My buddy and I were lucky to have made it through without a twisted ankle at the very least. We laughed about our stupidity the entire drive back to Estes Park. I'm glad to have experienced the hike; I hope it serves a lesson to myself and to anyone reading as well. Timber Lake trail humbled me, I loved it.

Lincoln Chapman grew up in Nashville, TN, and is 26 years old. He idolized football his entire adolescence, which led him to a small university in Texas where he was finally able to scratch that itch at 22. After school, he started traveling, beginning with Los Angeles, where he started commercial acting and modeling. After a handful of stints in Southern California, he began traveling in his van, chasing any gig and any opportunity.
 
He moved to Estes Park in June, 2022 where he serves wine and is pursuing his writing career. Catch him in the corner of a local watering hole jotting or doodling away on paper.

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The publicaiton of this piece of original content was made possible by: Ram's Horn Village Resort,  Tahaara Mountain Lodge and Twin Owls Steakhouse.