I don't know how a ten-mile round trip could possibly include 12 miles uphill one way, but it did. North of Crested Butte, north of Mt. Crested Butte, north of Gothic (a ghost town revived for the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory), we headed for Copper Creek trailhead. We did not park at the base, no no no, because apparently the jeep track passes for a road that RDC wanted to take Cassidy up.
(Monarch Pass went on for a long way, was vaguely snowy, had narrow, sharp curves and no guard rails, but it was paved smoothly. This wasn't even gravel, like Guanella Pass, nor washed-out blacktop like the state forest road to Uncas Lake. This was nothing that a vehicle should be taken up, four-wheel-drive or otherwise. We went up and Cassidy did fine. Like Olivia Steinbeck in East of Eden with airplanes, this is something I continue not to believe in even after experiencing it.)
Gorgeous. This is how everywhere should be, with surface water and lots of trees and, get this, about a dozen people along our entire several hours on the trail (I know I'm part of the problem, but part of my problem-causing is that I like it deserted). Sallows and blue spruce and cottonwoods on the north-facing slopes and sage and bear grass on the south-facing and Indian paintbrush and campanula and did I mention the creek and the lake?
The last mile up lasted about twelve times as long as I wanted. I plodded. Steep is one thing. I don't know what the grade was: "plenty" about sums it up. RDC wasn't quite up to speed and listed somewhat, and unfortunately strained his knee. I was determined to get to the top, and so was RDC, and so we did.
Why we had packed only one sandwich apiece instead of all of them, I don't know. But I am damn glad I had my own 64-ounce Camelbak bladder.