A Hike to Sprague Lake and Alberta Falls in Rocky Mountain National Park

​The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

By Barb Boyer Buck

“What’s on your butt and why are you going to Cleveland?” 

I looked over at my dad who was sitting next to me while I was driving.  I had no idea what he was talking about. ​

On June 4, the first day Rocky Mountain National Park started utilizing a timed-entry reservation system and Trail Ridge Road had been open to the public, I decided to take my parents on a visit.   Don and Hermine Boyer live in Johnstown and hadn’t been to Rocky since last fall.  They were nervous to visit in light of COVID19 concerns, they are elderly and both have had health issues within the past few years.  ​

​My dad is also losing his hearing.

Hermine and Don Boyer at Sprague Lake

“Barb!  The speed limit is 45!” he said.  Oops, I was going 50.  I was excited about driving up above treeline on Trail Ridge Road and wasn’t paying close attention.  Also, for the first time in decades, it was a beautiful, early June afternoon and the traffic was sparse.   I was giddy about this – it had been more than 20 years since I’ve seen visitation this light in Rocky on a glorious summer day. 

I was driving his car, so I respected his wishes and slowed to 45 mph. Almost immediately, a large truck was tail-gaiting me. 

“See, now there’s a bozo on my butt since I’m going the speed limit!” I said, but Don heard differently.  

All three of us broke out in uproarious laughter when I explained to my dad that what he heard as Cleveland was “speed limit” and nothing was wrong with my butt.  One of the things I love most about my parents is their senses of humor.  

When RMNP announced the timed-entry reservation system would start on June 4, I made a reservation for the first day.  It is required to present your receipt (paper copy or downloaded onto your phone) at the entrance gate and that you enter during the time period you reserved.    

​I told my parents my reservation was from 8-10 a.m. and asked they pick me up by 8.

Barb and Don Boyer hiking north of Napa Valley, CA, in 1976

One of the most difficult things to wrap my mind around is how much my parents have changed since my family started hiking together when I was still very young.  It’s frustrating when the people who used to yell at you for being late all the time are late themselves.   They showed up around 8:45. Good thing the reservation had a two-hour time slot. ​​

​Note to self:  next time, tell them to be someplace one hour before I really need them there. 

There were rangers standing on the road, right before we reached the Beaver Meadows entrance of RMNP at about 9 a.m. to make sure we had made a reservation and then at the gate we showed rangers our reservation confirmation. ​​My dad had a heart attack three years ago; he turned 78 this year.  Sprague Lake was the perfect spot, I thought, for a small hike.  We took a slight detour to show them the handicapped accessible camping spot. There is virtually no elevation gain and it’s a half-mile jaunt around the perimeter of this lake, which was created by Abner Sprague when he was building is lodge there in 1914.  
​To my surprise, my parents had never been there.  Our family moved to Colorado Springs in 1979 and my parents owned a house in Longmont for 30 years before they downsized to a smaller place in Johnstown, just two years ago.  I had hiked with my parents in Rocky many times before; I guess we were all younger then and did more strenuous hikes. ​

Young moose near Sprague Lake

We saw a very young moose at the handicapped-accessible wilderness camping spot, just off the main trail.  We were sitting at one of the picnic benches, and he came out of the surrounding aspen glen.  

“Look!” I whispered; my mom gasped.  My dad said, quite loudly, “What?!”  I pointed.  The young animal was very considerate and stood still as we all got pictures, including Pop. Then he wandered toward the lake.

While preparing for this trip, I had suggested to my dad that he bring his pole & flies. “I don’t have a current fishing license,” he said.  What? I had envisioned Mom & I hiking while my dad fished – that’s what we had always done in the past while us kids were growing up, on the South Platte River at Deckers, in southern Colorado.  But that was 40 years ago, I reminded myself. ​

​My mother was having a wonderful time – she loved discovering the different wildflowers and encouraged me to take close-up shots of everything.  

“That one is called Frauenschue,” she said, pointing at a golden banner.  My mother is German and grew up in a small town in Bavaria, exploring the woods and hills of Ober Franken. Frauenschue translates to “women’s slippers.”

​“Oh, I think that’s a wild hazelnut bush!” she exclaimed.  “After the war (WWII), my mother sent us kids out to the woods to pick them.  We ate a few (they were so sweet!), but kept most of them because she would grind them up to make flour and cookies.”    

Hermine pointed out wild strawberries and gooseberries as well.  She stopped to marvel at the striated granite rocks and pieces of wood with interesting markings from insect infestation.  

I think I get my excitement at seeing beautiful nature from my mother, who notices every detail.  She doesn’t hide her enthusiasm when she is pointing these things out, and it’s an absolute joy to be with her in nature (unless she starts talking too loud to my dad, which can scare off the wildlife.)

Don and Hermine Boyer hiking to Alberta Falls

I had convinced my dad to use my hiking poles. I have to carry them on any downhill hike because of my knees, a weakness I inherited from him which has been exacerbated by subsequent injury.  I told him that if he used them, he wouldn’t get so tired.  

I understand his reticence about using the poles, I often feel the embarrassment of having to use them, too.  But he came up with other excuses, too.  Again, I was struck at how my parents are now acting like the surly and stubborn teenagers I once was.  Ah, karma. ​​

“How can I take pictures if I have those in both hands?” he said.  I pointed out the loops attached the handles. 

​“You just let go of your poles & take a picture,” I explained.  He finally agreed and was soon out-pacing my mother and I, who stopped often to admire the flora and features around us. ​​

Next, I thought Bear Lake was a good choice but the parking lot was full (it was now 10:30). We headed back down to the Glacier Gorge parking area & trailhead to catch the shuttle.  But then I found out my parents had never seen Alberta Falls, either.  ​​

Alberta Falls

So, we hiked up there.  Again, my father was outpacing my mom and I who were discovering more plants and flowers.  On the way down we got caught in a sudden rainstorm and were pelted, somewhat painfully, with hail.

Hail on the way to Alberta Falls

We completed the 1.6-mile roundtrip hike by 1:30 and then decided it was too late to take the shuttle up to Bear Lake.  We were hungry and still needed to travel Trail Ridge Road.  We stopped near the Fern Lake trailhead in Moraine Park for lunch and my mother and I explored the moraine a bit.  “What is this?” she exclaimed, pointing at a willow cone.   My dad joined us, leaving the picnic table unattended.  Within seconds, a magpie was investigating the remnants of our lunch.  ​

Willow cone in Moraine Park

“Shoo,” said my dad, returning to the table to pick up the trash.  The bird stuck around, irritated at being interrupted scavenging.  “Do you want an orange?” I heard him say and I yelled back, “Don’t feed him!”  Sheesh, my parents are more like children now than adults, I thought again. ​​

Don and Hermine Boyer lunching in Moraine Park

Note to self:  patience is the key when dealing with children and elderly parents. ​

​Our drive up to the top of Trail Ridge Road was everything I hoped it would be.  On that day, it was very warm and the snow that had been recently plowed through to open the pass was melting quickly, rivulets of snowmelt were everywhere.   But Mom & Pop were too tired to take the trip all the way down to Grand Lake, so we turned around and drove back down to Estes Park.

Longs peak from Trail Ridge Road on June 4

The trip ended at around 4:30 with another first-since-the-quarantine activity: dining in a restaurant, Café Pho Thai.   It was excellent and my parents were reassured with the social-distancing measures they employed. 

“Yesterday brought back a lot of memories,” said Hermine the next day.  “It was so nice to do something together, just like when all of you children were still at home and we all went together fishing or hiking, mostly in California when we went to the ​

beach, or the redwood forests, or vacationing in Yosemite National Park. In Colorado, you guys were older but we still went fishing and hiking all day.
​
“What I liked was we also saw a lot of young families with their small children, instilling in them the love of nature. We saw people our age still hiking, even if they needed polls or sticks.”

​My skeptical and stubborn dad had a great time, too.  

“I was reluctant to go, having been almost exclusively in my house for about 100 days, but the park has been a favorite destination since I moved to Northern Colorado in 1988,” said Don.  “We go two to five times a year on average and every trip before was enjoyable.“This time, with the Covid-19 around, I was not sure I wanted to be around people that much and the park has always been full in the past with heavy car and foot traffic. But I went because, 1. There were reservations to minimize attendance, 2. This is the best time to see the park emerging from its delayed winter, and 3. My daughter is a very persistent person, and enjoyable company.”

​Note to self: remember everyone, no matter what their age, have irritating quirks and differences in approach to life, including me.

Both of my parents agreed the air was cleaner, the visibility was greater.  “The whole park looks refreshed, like the pandemic gave it a breather,” said my mom. 

“Trail Ridge Road was always a special place for me,” she said.  “It always showed me how unimportant we as humans are, even if we think we are so important. In other words, the park put me back to reality.”

“The problem with the timed arrivals is that there are no timed departures,” Don said.  “We, like I imagine most other visitors, decided that once we arrived, we were going to stay as long as possible.  The result is, of course, that the further in the day, the more crowded the park became.

“The air was crystal clear, even though we were breathing it through masks, a practice that about half the visitors seem to employ.  The clarity of the air allowed us to see and photo extremely detailed features on the far horizon,” he said. 

It was a wonderful day for many reasons.  I enjoyed reconnecting with my parents and reminiscing about the times we hiked as a family over the years.  My mother experienced the burgeoning wildflowers and plants that she enjoyed so much.  

And my grumpy old dad got a little less grumpy. 

“Returning home, we felt that peaceful defusing of nerves that had started on entering the park and continued well into the night,” he said.   “I realized that I needed that trip.  I have three months of tension to get rid of, and Rocky Mountain National Park had once again worked its wonders.”

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