Forest Canyon

In July or August of 1977, I decided to hike Forest Canyon. I had seen it from Trail Ridge Road on our many visits to Rocky Mountain National Park, and it seemed to me to be a magical place. There was no way I could see that people could get into it: I knew that no trail led into the mouth of the canyon; it seemed like almost a sheer drop of 3000' to enter the canyon from Trail Ridge; and if anything the cliffs on the east face of the Continental Divide were even more forbidding. I imagined it to be a place of aboriginal natural beauty, almost unknown to man. So naturally, I had to go there.

This was before I had purchased my first car, so the trip began with my riding the Alpenmeister from Boulder up to the park. I had a tent and sleeping bag, so it must have been pretty awkward riding the bike with a frame pack on my back. But by then I had ridden my bike up to the national park many times, so I knew what to expect. It usually took around 4 hours, so I most likely reached the park in the early afternoon.

I dutifully checked in at the ranger station in Big Elk Meadows and obtained a backcountry camping permit. The ranger expressed some skepticism about my camping alone and my plan to hike the entire 10 mile length of Forest Canyon in one day. But I promised her I would check in when I completed my hike the following day. I suspect that skepticism aside, she wasn't allowed to say no, so off I went. I rode to the trailhead Moraine Park, and locked my bicycle to a sturdy aspen tree.

A waterfall on the west wall
of Forest Canyon

It is a short, one mile hike from the trailhead to the Pool, where the Big Thompson River cascades over a cliff into a natural whirlpool basin. The lowest falls are only 20 feet high, but one cannot see what lies above. The chute at the base of Forest Canyon was formed by huge boulders; there was no obvious way to follow the stream past the falls and into the canyon itself.

I solved the problem by scrambling a few hundred feet up the right wall of the canyon. It was pretty rough going. In the trees, I caught a glimpse of a waterfall on the far side of the canyon and took a picture of that. A little later, I crossed an outcropping of rock and was able to take a picture up the canyon -- my first full view of Forest Canyon from its mouth, and a nice graphic for the hike I planned to do the next day.

Forest Canyon, looking N from its mouth
[I think this frame is reversed]

After another hour or so, I was able to drop down into the canyon, well behind the gatekeeper rocks. After that expenditure of effort, I was fairly confident that I had the entire canyon to myself. It was also getting late in the afternoon, so time to find a place to bed down for the night. Sleep anywhere.

I figured that to find a level place to camp, I should move toward the creek at the bottom of the canyon. This was made difficult by deadfall. Even if I wasn't entirely alone, it was pretty clear that noone had entered the canyon by this route, because there were enormous tree trunks lying crisscross everywhere. Travel was limited to climbing up over one trunk, dropping down on the other side, walking a few paces and then repeating the procedure. 

I was initially concerned about the possibility of being visited by a bear during the night. I was probably aware that some people took care to suspend their food from a tree to deny bears access to it. But I had not brought along extra rope for this purpose. I certainly didn't own a bear canister. All that being as it was -- after more than an hour of clambering over tree trunks, it occurred to me it would have to be the craziest bear in the world to work that hard for a snack. Moreover, I figured that the sound of a bear laboriously climbing over trunk after trunk to try to get at my food would surely wake me in time to escape. I set up my tent in cozy quadrangle just large enough to accommodate it, bounded by four of those enormous downed and decaying trees, and slept very soundly.

The next morning, I quickly decided it would take me forever to walk the length of the canyon clambering over tree trunks the whole way. I more or less reversed my hike in the previous day until I was high enough on the canyon wall to make the going a bit easier. Almost immediately, I ran across a game trail. Animals are expert at conserving energy, so this was proof of my strategy. I started following the elk trail, and found it relatively easy going.

Spider web and dew

A short way along the trail, I noticed the morning dew clinging to a spider web across the mouth of a little cavern created by a rock fall. I tried to photograph this, but since I did not own a reflex camera the result is a bit disappointing.

Hayden Spire
from the floor of Forest Canyon

It was still pretty tough going in the lower portion of the canyon. But the trail gradually got lower on the canyon wall, the forest thinned and I was able to start appreciating the canyon's spectacular beauty. There is a rock promontory known as Hayden Spire that is showcased at one of the viewpoints along Trail Ridge Road. The spire looks even more impressive when viewed from below, as was doubtless the case when it was named.

The Floor of Forest Canyon
looking Southeast

Around mid-morning, I made my way toward the creek to refill my water bottle. The forest had thinned to little copses of fir trees here and there. The undergrowth -- especially near the creek -- was a dense layer of scrub oak. I had to press my way through the knee-high scrub, and almost stepped into the creek when I reached the water's edge.

The Floor of Forest Canyon
looking Northwest

From there, the going got much easier. I was walking through an alpine meadow decked with thick grasses. I could of walked barefoot and it would have been comfortable.

I continued to enjoy the views of the canyon walls -- taking great pleasure from the notion that few people had experienced the same. 

I also took some ironic pleasure in noting as I climbed that the Big Thompson River was dwindling from a creek to a brook -- something I could easily hop across. I took care to fill my water bottle before I started to climb out at the head of the canyon, since it was already becoming a challenge to choose the main fork of the flow.

The Big Thompson River
as a brook

Once I had emerged from the forest and scrub and was walking in a broad meadow, it became clear that I could choose any route I wanted, to reach the rim of the canyon. I resolved to follow the main branch of the Big Thompson River and find its ultimate headwaters. The punch line is that there are a number of shallow pools in the top of the saddle between Trail Ridge and the Continental Divide near Milner Pass. The pools are formed as the last of the snow melts at the very top of the ridge. The snow melt seeps down through the rocks, collects with other water and emerges as a spring a short distance below the top of the ridge.

Headwaters of the
Big Thompson River

I knew that once I reached the head of the canyon, my hike would be nearly done. From wherever I reached the rim, it would be a short hike east to where Trail Ridge Road descends to Milner Pass. It is also nearly level. So after a short, easy hike I came up to the roadway.

The main branch of the Big Thompson River rises toward the west side of the canyon. So as I hiked toward the roadway, I passed a spot where I could see down the length of the canyon. I should have taken a photo to record my journey, but forgot to do so. Since it's only a short hike from the road, I returned to the spot the following year and took the record shot.

Forest Canyon

As I started hiking down Trail Ridge Road, I stuck out my thumb and was quickly picked up by a couple that was touring around in their new Volkswagen Diesel Rabbit. I related to them my adventures as we went back toward Moraine Park.

At some point as we were descending, the husband noticed that white smoke was coming out of the exhaust pipe. They had an earnest discussion on what it could mean, since the car was brand new. But the engine appeared to be running well in spite of this, so on we went. It occurred to me much later that the long downgrade at high altitude meant that the engine was running cool and rich. Such white smoke often comes from a diesel that has just been started.

The couple went out of their way to carry me back to the trailhead, and dropped me right next to my bike. It was mid-afternoon and I still had to ride back to Boulder. Which I did -- not forgetting to check in at the ranger station along the way. After the short climb out of Estes Park on Highway 36, it is mostly downhill as far as Lyons. I reached there about 6 in the evening. 

For some of the ride down the canyon, I remember resting my head on the handlebars for a few seconds because -- as you might imagine -- I was a bit tired. The ride from Lyons to Boulder was the perfection of that technique: I would raise my head to scout the next 100 yard of the road ahead, then rest my head on my hands on the handlebars and continue to peddle. Periodically, I raised my head and adjusted my course to keep from veering off the roadway. I did manage to make it safely back to my apartment, and I have never again been quite so tired while biking.