Three Seasons in the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness Area; 1973 – 1975

Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness, CO – 1973-1975

To this day I still cannot believe how beautiful or how breath taking is the wilderness of the Maroon Bells-Snowmass country. Before becoming a designated wilderness area in 1964, it was administratively declared a Forest Service primitive area in 1932.

In 1873, Dr. Ferdinand V. Hayden and his US Government Survey team witnessed the Elk Mountains including the Maroon Bells, today the most photographed mountain in Colorado. He had already surveyed the Jackson Hole country and the Grand Tetons. Hayden wrote that the Tetons were spectacular, but Maroon Mountain far outshines them.

Located west of the Continental Divide, these mountains often get more snow and rain than do other areas in the Colorado Rockies. Wildflower displays in the summer border the absurd. In places like Fravert Basin purple monkshood and yellowish-white wild parsnip literally stand chest high as you hike the trail. A favorite spot of mine between Silver Creek Pass and Geneva Lake, and later I found also of photographer John Fielder, was a meadow full of nearly every imaginable color of Indian paintbrush. I even found albino paintbrushes and elephant head flowers.

The mountains of this wilderness, seven of which exceed 14,000 feet, are unique among themselves. There is the vibrant, maroon colored sedimentary sandstone of Pyramid Peak and the Maroon Bells and the sometimes blinding silver of the granite of Capitol and Snowmass Peaks. And between them all, high alpine mountain passes.

I realized That I was a “pass bagger” rather than a “peak bagger”. I loved to be hiking up one of the passes; whether it be Buckskin, East Maroon, Triangle, Trail Rider, or East Snowmass, and keep my eyes down the last few feet. When I reached the top, I’d quickly raise my head. What an eyeful I would see!

Most of the passes provided wide open landscapes in the wilderness. Rugged mountains covered in snow, alpine lakes, lush green meadows, and occasionally a herd of elk or band or bighorn sheep would be laid out before me.

My dog Smokii always focused on her two favorite sports. On snow slopes she would run up to the top. Then on her belly, with her hind legs trailing out behind her, she’d slide down the snow. But if she heard a marmot chirp, off she would chase. Only one time in all our years together did she ever catch one. She had a soft mouth and all I did was yell, “No!” She immediately released it unhurt. But if you can read joy in a dog’s face, she did have fun.

The most heavily used trail was a mile and a half in length. This was the trail from Maroon Lake to Crater Lake, with the Maroon Bells as a magnificent backdrop. There was a regulation at that time which prohibited camping along this trail or within one-half mile of Crater lake.

There was one seemingly hidden “illegal” campsite along Minnehaha Creek tucked in the willows. I so often came across illegal campers at this site that I attached a “NO CAMPING HERE” sign on a tree.

Once I checked on this campsite and found a lone backpacker who tied one end of his tent to that very tree with the posted sign. Before I could say a word the man blurted out, “It’s all right to camp on this side of the tree isn’t it?”

In 1975, my third season as the wilderness ranger, I again found a lone backpacker with his camp set up. I asked him why he camped there with the posted “NO CAMPING HERE” sign.

“I talked with the ranger last year,” he answered, “and he said it was okay.

I told him that I was “the ranger” from last year and, “No I didn’t say it was okay.”

He then came back with, “I’m sorry. It was the year before.”

“Try again. I was the ranger then too.”

He just laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “I tried,” he said resolved now to his citation.

Most of the hikers I met were wonderful, interesting people from all walks of life. Some were at first, people I thought I could ever like. I found my opinion was to change..

I had just hiked out of the Snowmass drainage and reached the summit of Buckskin Pass in time for lunch. Smokii immediately picked out a snow patch, and with her dog pack still on,  went to sleep. Never understood the phrase “cat nap”. Always found “dog naps” much more satisfying.

Two men were already sitting on rocks sharing lunch. I thought one of them looked familiar but couldn’t place him. Then the other man called him, “Bob.”

“Bob,” I thought to myself. Then my mind kicked into gear as I recognized Robert McNamara, former Secretary of Defense under President John F. Kennedy and now president of the World Bank.

I made up some powdered lemonade and offered some to McNamara and his friend. They readily accepted then offered me a treat I had never before tasted; Toberlone chocolate. It would become a staple on many of my future backpack trips.

The three of us talked about mountains and various knapsack routes. Suddenly the man I had so associated with the Vietnam War, I discovered was a lover of wilderness and of hiking. We talked about backpacking foods and how I had finally hit my ninety-ninth packet of instant oatmeal and gagged.

My following ten day patrol took me up the Snowmass Creek Trail to Snowmass Lake. About half way up the trail I again ran into McNamara, along with his wife, and a female friend. They too were on their way to the lake.

I learned a lot about people in the backcountry. For the most part it didn’t matter if someone was a bank president, a lawyer, a plumber, or a school teacher. In the wilderness even a wilderness ranger making $4.53 an hour (1975) was given the same respect. We were all on equal terms. People were relaxed,  enjoying themselves, and the stress of their work and life back home was nonexistent up in the mountains. This was a time when people read the topography off topographic maps, not GPS units. And my sole source of outside communications was a hand held portable Motorola radio, with very little reception, not a smart phone.

One of my favorite trails to hike was East Maroon Pass, It was under 12,000 feet in elevation, rare in the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness, and provided access to a large subalpine/alpine basin and routes to Conundrum Hot Springs via Triangle and Conundrum Passes or on down to Copper Lake.  It was fairly gradual as it used to be the stagecoach and wagon route between Aspen and Gothic/Crested Butte in the 1800’s.

I had a favorite spot just off the trail below East Maroon Pass. There were a few old cabin remnants left from gold and silver prospectors in the previous century. A small creek flowed nearby and my camp was hidden from the main trail.

One late afternoon, a herd of elk came crashing out of the spruce forest and ran no more than ten feet from my tent.  Smokii and I were sitting outside were I was cooking supper on my Svea stove. Smokii stood up with her tail tightly curled and just stared at the elk. Not one bark. I stood up quickly and also just stared. It was so sudden. And then it was over and they were gone. I don’t know what spooked them.

Then I started to remind Smokii that she was a Norwegian elkhound and wasn’t it her duty to protect me from thundering herds? I will admit, both of us were fairly alert all night.

Most of the time the wilderness seemed comfortable and welcoming. I loved the life of a wilderness ranger. I would wake up one morning in August to a freak snowstorm which covered even the wildflowers in white. Backpackers would pack up their camps and head for the trailheads and their vehicles and home. Me, it was my job to stay up there. And by late morning the sun would come out, the snow melted, and I would generally have most of the wilderness to myself.

But sometimes the mountains would quickly remind me that they had another personality. I found a tent set up illegally on the upper side of Crater Lake. No one was around so I dropped the front tent pole and left a note instructing the occupants to pack up and move at least one mile away.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of a helicopter flying low and then landing next to the lake. I quickly dressed and hurried down to the chopper. A sheriff’s deputy and Aspen search and rescue were loading into the helicopter.

A sign was posted on the trail near Maroon lake that referred to these peaks as “The Deadly Bells”. Due to the rotten, tilted, and loose sandstone rock, several experienced climbers had died over the years. In 1965, eight people died in five separate instances.

One of the search and rescue volunteers told me he’d never reached the summit of the Maroon Bells. “We always find the climbers’ bodies about 1,000 feet below the saddle of the two peaks. Wish they’d be closer to the top.”

I found out the illegal tent belonged to two climbers, a man and woman. It was the woman’s body they were attempting to recover.

I had my own brush with the unstable Maroon sandstone formations on nearby 14,018 foot Pyramid Peak. But that is a separate story to be told. A story that involved my ice axe.