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July 12, 2015 Elevation: 13,069’ (Chiquita); 13,513’ (Ypsilon) Elevation Gain from Chapin Pass Trailhead: 2,474’ Roundtrip Distance: 8.1 Miles Mount Chiquita and Ypsilon Mountain are the second and third summits of the six that make up “Mummy Mania,” an incredibly ambitious one day tread. Hiking Mummy Mania includes Mount Chapin, Mount Chiquita, Ypsilon Mountain, Fairchild Mountain, Hagues Peak, and Mummy Mountain. Whew…I’m out of breath just thinking about it! Before I knew the sweet taste of Colorado, much before it taught me to remain happily lost amidst its grandeur, and back when living here was still a fantasy, this hike is what I imagined Colorado to be. Our double-peak adventure began at the Chapin Pass Trailhead on Old Fall River Road at 11,040’. Very shortly into the trail we split right at a fork to follow “ALL SUMMITS”. Here, still barely in the Subalpine zone, the weathered rock staircases and tree root steps teeter just on the brink of tree line, showcasing several spacious views of the Chapin Creek Valley.  Once in the Alpine zone, Mount Chiquita and Ypsilon Mountain are discernible, while the trail becomes more intuitive than defined.  After passing Mount Chapin on our right, we steadily climbed a mixture of grass, moss, and talus to the broad and windy Chiquita summit. From here we viewed Mount Chapin, Yipslon Mountain, and Horseshoe Park, all while standing among so many wildflowers!
Next, a saddle presents Ypsilon’s laborious (non) path, an ascent that so rightfully earns the title of slog. The beautiful rocks here are larger, slab-like, and demand focus with each and every step. In fact, in two instances my mind wandered for one second toward the incredible history in the geology surrounding us, abruptly awakening me to the realization that I was about to go rock-slab surfing down a less than cushiony hillside. The final approach to Ypsilon Mountain summit involves a phenomenal walk along its dramatically sheer east face. The sun began to sink as we enjoyed a 360 degree view of the Mummy Range Mountains, Never Summer Mountains, Longs Peak area, and Estes Park.
Instead of re-summiting Mount Chiquita on the return, we descended the western slope of Ypsilon. While still intuitive, this provided no trail with the only strategy being to move laterally across the steep rock field and to continuously maneuver over and around delicate vegetation.
In retrospect, I think it might have been wiser to backtrack. Nonetheless, as five bull elk ran playfully down below us, we were engrossed in their spirit and drawn upward to the sky as it effortlessly shown deep pink and deeper orange.  If you are seeking the sensation of utter confidence in being lost while precisely where you should be, hike Mount Chiquita and/or Ypsilon Mountain! Happy Trails! 
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I'm not recommending this hike for good reason, getting there might kill you.
This risk will have to be repeated on the return. That crossing can be even more risky coming at the end of the day when you're tired, ready to be done and not thinking clearly. Think twice before attempting something you might regret.
There's a story Joe Evans tells in his book, Death, Despair, and Second Chances in Rocky Mountain National Park. In 1905, three young men, Louis Raymond Levings, George Black and Dean Babcock are camping and hiking in the Mummy Range. Levings and Black leave Babcock to climb Ypsilon Mtn. They're interested in photographing snow cornices and they begin climbing down one of the arms of the Y when Levings, 21 years of age, looses a hand hold and falls to his death! Black returns for help but it is decided to leave the body at the site. They return the next day carrying bags of cement!
Reaching the lakes edge, I pause and look out across the lake to the east. It's a large lake. Calm and peaceful, although I'm sure there can be moments of gusty wind. Following a faint trail around the south edge of the lake, it seems clear this lake is not visited by too many people. To get to the scenic part, I have to work through willows near the outlet and then a short rock hop over the outlet. Finally, the trees open up to the shoreline and the vista of Mt. Chiquita. Ypsilon Mt remains hidden. Some larger boulders provide a place to rest, soak in some sun, and enjoy the peace.
Arduous was the word that got my attention. Such an interesting word choice the National Park Service chose to describe a temporary diversion trail around a naturally occuring, slow moving landslide that crossed the trail to Timber Lake. And yet, after having climbed the flag marked trail that takes the hiker up one side of the landslide, and then down the other side back to the trail, that was without a doubt the perfect word to use; it was difficult and tiring.
Once past the detour, the trail begins to paralell Timber Creek. After stopping along the way to photograph a patch of Heartleaf Arnica, I travel easily along this part of the trail as it stays fairly level while Timber Creek rises to eventually meet the trail. The trail then gains some quick elevation away from Timber Creek, before leveling off again, skirting around several small woodland meadows filled with elephanthead wildflowers. The flowers are at peak bloom and I dive into a patch with my camera, gingerly moving around the flowers and leaving as little trace of my pesence as possible. Little Red Elephantheads (Pedicularis groenlandica) are members of the figwort family. Figwort plants at one time were used to treat hemorrids, which at the time were called figs. Wort is an Old English term meaning plant. The genus name for Little Red Elephantheads, Pedicularis, is latin for louse and it was believed these type of plants were good for treating lice. So if you have hemorrhiods and lice, this might be your plant.
Once done, I release the pose with a deep outward breath, then work another angle, another pose. After a while, I break my concentration and stand straight, looking around. Finding another spot, I ballet over to it and start again. Finally satisfied that I’ve worked the patch, I navigate my way back to the trail. A feeling of contentment comes over me as I walk on. I take on another rise in the trail before exiting the woods into an open clearing. With views of the western tundra slope of Mt Ida greeting me, I know I’ve entered the world of the subalpine. I cross the clearing and reenter the woods for one last climb into the upper hanging valley that holds Timber Lake and several smaller ponds.
On the return, I follow the series of waterfalls that connect the upper hanging valley with the open meadow below. The area around the upper falls is thick with chest high Bitter Cress, blooming white flowers, mixed with occasional blue chiming bells. Once again, I’m working the camera but I find the photography challenging. I begin to be concerned about how these photos would turn out. Was the light too harsh, was the focus correct. In these moments of doubt, my mind wanders and I begin to wonder why I bother with taking so much time to photograph.
I follow the string of waterfalls down the hillside, carefully picking my way. Once back on the trail, I pause for a moment looking back at where I've come from. Then I turn and head down the trail, looking for the next photograph.
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"The wild requires that we learn the terrain, nod to all the plants and animals and birds, ford the streams and cross the ridges, and tell a good story when we get back home." ~ Gary Snyder
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“Hiking -I don’t like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains - not hike! Do you know the origin of the word ‘saunter?’ It’s a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, A la sainte terre,’ ‘To the Holy Land.’ And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.” ~ John Muir |
