Sandbeach Lake Memories in Rocky Mountain National Park

by Barb Boyer Buck

A little more than a month ago on my 54th birthday, I took a stroll into Wild Basin. This was just a couple of days before Rocky Mountain National Park closed for pandemic mitigation.

A group of four young people wearing sneakers and light jackets were standing at the Sandbeach Lake trailhead. They discussed whether or not they should hike up to the lake.   

“Have you been up there before?”  I asked, knowing they hadn’t been. 

“No.”

“Well, do you have any other shoes with you?”

“No.” They continued to consult the trailhead placard.

I tried to tell myself to mind my own business, but I was worried.  I looked down and continued to lace up my hiking boots. It was a warm day, but not warm nor dry enough to be traipsing up to Sandbeach Lake in only hoodies and Keds.  

I hesitantly offered a little more advice.  

“It’s a really hard hike. It’s snowpacked on the trail, I’ll bet.” 

“Have you been up there?” one of the young men asked me. ​

I am still wearing these same hiking boots, 22 years later.

Yes, I had been. It was decades ago and I wore the same hiking boots I was now putting on my feet.   

“A long time ago,” I said. “It was a hard hike, very steep.” The teenagers mulled it over a few more minutes and then got back into their car and roared off. ​

I watched them leave and considered taking the hike myself. I started up the trail, but then broke left to follow the Ouzel Falls trail signs. I chickened out.  I had the right shoes, fortified against the icy snow patches with YakTraks, I had a real jacket, but I’m not the woman I used to be.

It rained a lot on our way up to Sandbeach Lake in July, 1998.

It was nearly 22 years ago when I hiked up to Sandbeach Lake with the man who was to become the father of my son. I was employed full-time as the features and special sections editor for the Estes Park Trail-Gazette and waited tables in the evenings at the Dunraven Inn, west of town.   

Early on a late-July Saturday, Tim and I started out on our backcountry adventure. I had worked the night ​

before until after 11 p.m. and didn’t get much sleep.  “How can you do this hike after working so late?” Tim asked, and I felt strong and admired. That’s a great feeling.  ​​

We were going to camp in Rocky Mountain National Park’s backcountry for the first time as a couple.  ​

​I moved to Estes Park in 1996, to take a job at the paper. It was in the fall, October, when I drove up to Estes Park for the interview.  I immediately liked the man who was to become my boss, Mr. Asbury.  He was a great man, supremely professional. After my interview, I wandered around the downtown Riverwalk with its carpet of autumn aspen leaves, the bluffs and Longs Peak towering over me. I thought, what a glorious place to live this would be.

Aspen forests comprise most of the terrain on the hike up to Sandbeach Lake.

But Tim has lived here as long as the Rotary’s Duck Race has been around.  When I met him, he was well-versed on hiking Rocky.  He was the expert. I was just in love with the landscape, the flowers, the weather - I documented every sight with my camera. I grew up hiking and camping with my parents in northern California and southern Colorado, but every place Tim took me to was something new and beautiful. Rocky Mountain National Park is one of this country’s richest treasures.

We brought lots of gear to camp overnight at Sandbeach Lake. Tim Buck was wearing his test print shirt for Elk Duds.

I got to know Tim when I found out he created the “Elk Duds” T-shirt; I wanted him to be my “Geek of the Week.” Let me explain. I ran all the features at the T-G, and one of those was the weekly profile that ran in the Trail Plus, the supplement to the Friday edition. It featured a picture of an Estes Park resident and their answers to a few questions. It wasn’t really called Geek of the Week, it was just what we called it at the paper. ​

Anyway, he was my geek one week, and after I developed the black and white picture I took of him, Tim illustrated it with his cartoon art before it went to press. ​
​So, I had my dream job in a dream location. I lived in a tiny efficiency cabin near the hospital and after Tim and I got together, we moved next door to a larger, 2-bedroom place owned by the same people.  We had the best landlords.

Sandbeach Lake sounded like paradise to me back in 1998. It still does: it’s a lake at 10,000 feet nestled at the base of Mount Meeker, and cradled with sand on its northern shore. It had the best of two worlds, I thought, the beach and the mountains! It was July, I was happy and up for anything. ​
The trail ascends quickly - about 2,000 feet in a little more than four miles. It takes more than three hours to get there, when ​

At 10,000 feet, clouds pass quickly over Mount Meeker.

you’re in shape. I’d like to think we made it in less time – I was in the best shape of my life since I was on the swim team in high school. I don’t remember and since this is my story, I suppose I can say whatever I like about it.

Taken from the trail on the way up, this was the last open view of Wild Basin along the Sandbeach Lake Trail before the aspen forest closes in.

We didn’t get far up the trail before storm clouds moved in from the east and it started to dump rain. The last bit of scenery to look back on other than trees for a while, was shrouded in rain clouds.  We didn’t care. It cooled us off and by then, we were in the trees and protected from lightening. We even stopped to take pictures in the rain.  This was the time when you had to develop all your shots to see if you got any good ones.  ​

We were heavily laden – we liked our food and drink and were not going to scrimp just because we were in the wilderness. I distinctly remember a bag of apples and a bottle of wine, but we brought other food, too. We also carried camp and cooking gear, sleeping bags. We didn’t pack many clothes, except for layers. It gets cold at 10,000 feet. ​​

In those moments after a summer thunderstorm in the national park, the sun wastes no time in breaking through the clouds. The entire forest around us seemed to stretch up to dry off.  Leaves and flowers dripped with water and sunshine. I was glad I brought my good camera, the one from the paper. ​

The flowers were glorious that year in late July. Everything was lush, it rained a lot.

The sun came out after the rainstorm, brightening this Indian paintbrush bush that grew next to the trail.

When we reached the lake, it was what I had imagined. And more. I remember bits and pieces – I remember taking photographs, most of all.  Tim had some  ​​

We treated the water from this stream so we could drink it.

tablets we treated the water with, so we could drink it.  We hung our wet clothes on our small tent while we wore our “beach clothes” on the sand.  The sand was very fine, created by the slow erosion of Mount Meeker above it and polished by the fierce winds at this sub-alpine elevation. It was the softest tent bed you can imagine.

We made a campfire. We were the only ones there. The lake was still and clean, reflecting the blue sky. Sometimes, when a cloud passed by, the water turned a rich green color.   Greenback Cutthroat  trout cruised the shallows, flashes of their red underside could be seen in the clear water.   That night, it rained again.

​The next morning as we were packing up our campsite, two fishermen showed up.  They were the only other people we had encountered on our adventure.

We hiked back down under cloudy skies. It was cool and dry; the hike was a piece of cake (these days, I shudder to think what my knees would do). We stopped again for a few pictures. I took two rolls of film in those pre-digital days and I’m glad I did, even though it cost me close to $10 to develop them. That evening, I went to work at the restaurant again.  ​

I took a safer and less strenuous path on my most recent birthday, and wondered if I would ever hike up to Sandbeach Lake again. I believe I will. 

​A lot of life has happened in the past 20 years. I’m no longer married, our child is grown and living in his own home. I underwent and ​

recovered from several major surgeries. I learned, the hard way, about patience and gratitude.

The beach at Sandbeach Lake is wonderful.

But in 1998, I was reckless and eager, swallowing every experience like it was water from an oasis in the desert.  I looked for adventure like I looked for a good story, or a mystery to solve, or a person’s essence to portray in my writing. 

​No, I’m not the same woman as I was back then. I’m grateful for that. Now, if something doesn’t come easy to me ​

right away, I keep trying until I master it. And in this time of quarantine, my patience is being tested again. ​ 

​It seems to be holding up pretty well, actually, and I wish the same for all of you.

Under cloudy skies, Sandbeach Lake takes on a deep green color.

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