I've moved away from my old tendency to plan every minute of a vacation and to fill it with a mandatory checklist of things to see, do, try, eat, photograph, and drive past quickly as a windshield tourist in order I could at least say, "I was there!" Perhaps it's age, perhaps it was the realization that vacations like that felt a little to akin to work, or perhaps it is just plain laziness. Whatever the reason or combination of reasons, my new approach is much more relaxing and allows for more spontaneity.
However, once I settle on doing something, I usually try to do a little research to find the best - the best breakfast, the best museum, the best scenic overlook. With today's goal of hiking in mind, I discerned McCullough Gulch is recognized as the must-do hike in Summit County, so I emailed directions to my phone, loaded Sam in the truck, and headed off.
The directions took me south of Breckenridge and indicated parking at the trailhead was a little over two miles up a gravel road. I started to point Big Blue up that road but became nervous when the road narrowed to a single lane with vehicles parked on what might serve as a shoulder for ants. That trend appeared to continue for as far as I could see, and even though I'll take Big Blue over almost any other vehicle in a head-to-head duel, I decided the best course of action was to back down the road and park in a gravel lot at the bottom. That decision added almost two and a half miles each way - five miles total - to the hike for the day, but I saw no other alternative.
Until I began hiking up the road, that is, and learned had I charged forward, I would have been greeted by a wide-open, two lane gravel road that climbed up the mountain. By the time this valuable little piece of information became available to me, Sam and I were well on our way, so we continued walking, holding our breath every time someone wiser than I drove past and kicked up dust.
We finally made the trailhead, where a kindly guide gave me directions. The hike was all that was promised and more; the two-mile or so climb up the mountain rewarded Sam and me with waterfalls about a mile and a half up and a cold, shallow, translucent glacial lake at the top of the mountain. I reveled in the solitude and stillness, and Sam reveled in traipsing through the falls and swimming in the cold lake. He returned the favor by pooping not once but twice right at the top of the mountain. I would have preferred to pack out only memories and a few pictures rather than two bags of Labrador-sized poop, but I guess when ya gotta go, ya gotta go...
By the time we made it back down to the truck, over four hours had elapsed. We were tired and hungry, but I was glad we had made the trek. Next time, though, I'm driving up that road.
As afternoon clouds rolled in over the Ten Mile Range, we headed back to the campground for an afternoon and evening of napping (both of us) and reading (just me - Sam's a great dog but not that great).
