A couple of weeks ago, my wife and I, and our adult children and their families, spent a few days vacationing in one of our favorite spots, Estes Park, Colorado. During the first four days, we had perfect weather that allowed us to complete our family rituals at the alluvial fan, up Trail Ridge Road, and around Bear Lake.
The hikers among us hiked, and the non-hikers shopped. The three year-old in the group danced and sang her way around a flat lake trail, taught all the adults a new way of playing pool, and joyfully announced the beginning of the party wherever she happened to make an entrance.
On the last day, my son, daughter-in-law, son-in-law, and I planned to take a hike to Chasm Lake. The trail to the lake is a 4.2 mile hike in one direction with an elevation gain of 2,300 feet, starting at about 11,000 feet above sea level. That is a huffer and a puffer for us flatlanders.
If you have ever hiked in the mountains, you know that when clouds start developing you have to be concerned about lightning storms, so it is always best to start when there are no clouds in the sky. Throughout the week, every morning had dawned with beautiful blue skies and no hint of the afternoon showers yet to come.
That morning, for the first time all week, we awakened to significant clouding. Worried about the likelihood of deteriorating weather, we almost stayed at the house, but decided to drive to the trailhead. By the time we got to the trailhead, it was misting. We almost turned back, but we decided to begin the hike with the hope that the sun would burn through the clouds.
For the next 2 1/2 hours, we hiked uphill. We never saw the sun, but neither did we encounter any rain. We finally came to a spot where we could see that Chasm Lake was on the far side of a ridge and probably 200 feet in elevation above us.
We started along the ridge until we came to two snowfields. One that was probably 100 feet in length, followed by another that was double the length of the first. The snow was on a 45-degree angle with a small path carved out by hikers.The pathway was barely wider than the width of one of my feet, so it meant putting one foot in front of the other. One slip meant we would slide downhill until we came to a huge pile of rocks. It looked like death to me. It also brought to mind the warning given us by a ranger the previous day. When we mentioned where we were going, he had told us he had been there just a day earlier. He said, "I wouldn't want to try it without poles and a good pair of shoes." Well, we had one pole among us, and there might have been two good pair of shoes among us, but we weren't really in a position of sharing our resources.
My daughter-in-law, the adventurous one, went first. I was sandwiched between my son and son-in-law, and I suspect there was an unspoken reason as to why the young ones placed the old man in the middle. I chose not to bring it up.
After Melissa got most of the way across the first snowfield, she shouted back that she didn't think we should try. I had only taken three or four steps, and was finding is very difficult to keep from looking down the ravine while my body was trying to curl into a fetal position. I gladly agreed with her, and turned around before anyone could disagree. In a short time, we were all back on dry ground, congratulating each other on the fact that the small lake below us was just as beautiful as Chasm Lake anyway.
A couple of minutes later, a man came along the trail by himself. He was sauntering along as if he didn't notice that he was nearly 13,000 feet above sea level. My memory tells me he had no backpack, was wearing shorts and sneakers, and was barely noticing the scenery. The man could just as easily have been shopping in Estes Park. He greeted us without slowing down and walked across the snowfield as if it was a wide sidewalk.
I guess the reader can draw various conclusions from this story. For me, though, it is that we had to make decisions throughout the day as to whether to keep going or stop. From hindsight, I think we made good decisions in each case, including the moment when we stopped.
I still want to go to Chasm Lake, but on that day I was not prepared for taking those last few steps. The other man was clearly prepared and seasoned from other experiences, and I tip my hat to him in terms of his ability. Interestingly, though, a few minutes later he came back in an apparent state of confusion. After visiting with him, we learned he had missed a turn, and had headed up that trail for no reason. He was supposed to turn to the right before he even got to the snowfields. Even though he had gone farther than us, he had simply wasted his time going in the wrong, and more challenging, direction. He had the skills, but he failed to read the signs.
I don't know where your trail is taking you, but I pray that God will grant you wisdom to know when to stop, when to keep going, and when to follow a new trail.
