The Rapture Route

On a Saturday in early October, I headed up to the west side of Rocky Mountain National Park with my friends Josh and Ben to explore a route I've long been wanting to do. It's not something you'll find on AllTrails, because much of it runs through the depths of the park's backcountry: alpine basins that have no trails running through them. Ever since I heard about the line (from Josh, who had done it before), I couldn't wait to see this untouched wilderness. Our outing did not disappoint.

We arrived at the trailhead just as the light was beginning to break through the inky dark of the early morning. It was cold, but not as cold as a morning in early October can be. Conditions had been dry and warm in recent days, and the forecast looked temperate, if a bit windy. We waited in the warm car for a few extra minutes as everyone readied their supplies, then saddled up and trotted up the rough path.

Before too long, we came across a hiker who was stopped on the trail, and for good reason; five moose were bathing in the river and its immediate vicinity. One cow was blocking the trail, and it was for this reason the hiker was stationary. However, Josh told the cow "we're comin' through". "Here we go. We're coming," he warned her, and made claps and whistles until she cleared off. We didn't know it yet, but the hiker was the last human we would see for the following eight and a half hours. When it came to wildlife sightings, though, the moose were just the beginning.

The next few miles melted away as we lit the aerobic furnace, running, then walking, up and through the woods. The reds and yellows of the fading summer surrounded us as we navigated up and over the rocky path. The light remained weak, as the sun was still hidden behind the mountains to the east of us. The conversation flowed readily as we discussed past runs, gossip of fun lines and the achievements of others, and tried to identify the names of the peaks on the horizon.

Before too long, we had made our way to the subalpine. Several gorgeous lakes and stunning rock towers greeted us. We stopped for snacks and pictures, dubbing ourselves a trio of "photo sluts". As we made our way over a stream flowing down a boulder, I took a bad step on some slippery rock and banged my shin a bit. It bled a little, but I was soon on my way again. The sun began to shine and we warmed up. We playfully posed as fake Instagram influencers around a set of unnamed crystal blue lakes, before coming upon a group of the most docile looking ptarmigans I've ever seen.

After a bit more frolicking through the subalpine, and a frigid dip in Island Lake by Josh, we found ourselves in the cirque and the alpine proper. Ahead of us stood the first of the three passes for the day, and our entrance into Hell. Hell Canyon, that is. It was a steep, chossy, mess and there was really no great line from what we could tell, so we decided to go "up the gut". What a heinous climb it was. The reward was only slight, as it was so windy up top, we didn't have much time to enjoy the view before we felt the urge to push on.

From there, the fun continued, because the descent was even worse. Was it steep? Yes. Did the talus form terrible angles? Yes. Did the rocks move? Yes. And when we finally passed that rocky section and found a gentle slope of low flora to lend our steps better purchase, it turned out to be steeper - and slipperier - than it looked. I fell on my ass several times. On one occasion, both of my poles went flying into the air, and one landed a good six feet below me. Embarrassed, I looked back to see if Ben had seen. He gave me the thumbs up and I knew he must have. Then a couple minutes later, I heard him fall too. Down below, Josh was descending quickly (though no more surefootedly) than us, into one of the most beautiful basins I've ever seen. "Hell Canyon is one of the most un-aptly named places I've ever been," he told me when I finally caught up.

Not wanting to wear out Satan's welcome, we kept our visit to hell brief. We moved efficiently through the drainage toward our second pass for the day, pausing only to curse the pass we'd just come over, and later to peer at some distant cliffs and debate whether the animals we saw there were mountain goats or bighorn sheep. Four sheep huddled near a cave and looked back at us with curiosity. Josh wondered aloud where the mountain lion who was surely watching us might be situated. We weren't able to locate her.

The second pass was a much easier proposition than the first. A few lakes and a moderately steep climb later, we made it to the top of the saddle looking down into the part of the route that had most attracted me: Paradise Park. Not only is this area remote and difficult to get to, it's devoid of trails. Looking down at the chunky shape of the creeks flowing through it, the distant translucent lakes, and immaculate forest, I pinched myself and thanked my lucky stars for being fortunate enough to visit such a place. The wind was picking up, so we began our descent without hesitation, yet I couldn't help but stop and take several pictures despite the gusts.

The next bit of the day is one beautiful blur. We visited another perfect unnamed alpine lake a little to the west of the pass, before running down into the overgrown and dried out grasses and wildflowers. We found a plaque nailed to a tree, and went to read it out of curiosity. It was very faded, and what little we could make out seemed to be some kind of official government survey language. "Whatever it says, it's boring," Josh remarked, and we moved on.

It's hard to capture the magic of the time we spent in Paradise. The creeks and rills were full of fast-moving cutthroat trout. The sides of the bowl were adorned with intriguing rock formations - one in particular was reminiscent of the Grand Teton but in miniature, in Ben's estimation. At one point we passed a pond that had what looked almost like an irrigation canal running along it, and there were animal prints in the mud. We weren't able to settle the debate as to whether they'd been made by a moose or a pair of Hokas.

I could have stayed where we were much longer. I told my friends that I really felt no need to return to civilization - I'd just stay here. But in reality, we did need to be mindful of time. It being late season, there were only so many hours in the day, and spending as long as we were in country with no trails, it was going to be many hours until we got to our exit point.

With that, we bushwhacked our way to the third pass, and our ticket out of Paradise. The brambles dug into the cuts on my leg from my fall on the wet boulder earlier. It stung. Josh led us up a challenging, steep line of large talus that formed a third class scramble. Each rock was covered with lichen, but also an abundance of satisfying holds. There were plenty of options from one rock to the next, and I was having a great time making my way up the hill. It did end up going on for quite a while. Just long enough for me to get just slightly sick of it. But then we were back to climbing up steep but vegetated slopes, and topped out in a wide open park with tons of different passes, mountains and lakes all around.

I saw Isolation Peak up close for the first time, and lamented not having the time to bag it. But Ben promised (slash insisted) on our doing a mission to come back for it next summer, and I satisfied myself with that. It was getting to be time to filter some water. We took a nice long break by another alpine lake, and I screwed my face up with frustration as I squeezed as hard as I could to get the water to flow through my aging filter. Josh took pity on me and filled my flasks with his fresher rig, and I repaid him with part of a Pop Tart.

Next up, descending the last pass and into East Inlet. Being that I spend most of my time on the east side of the park, I'd never been to this zone. It's magic; the view up to the west side of The Cleaver forms a stark backdrop to blue-green lakes, tall grass, and an abundance of birds. Things just got better and better after this point. Not least because we'd finally found our way back to trail.

Finally able to run again, we made our way past five beautiful lakes: Fifth, Fourth, Spirit, Verna, and Lone Pine. Just as Josh pointed out that we hadn't seen anyone since we started out, we came across a small group of folks, some carrying serious cameras. They said they might have a go at summiting Isolation, though I found the plan doubtful given that the light was beginning to fade.

As the lakes kept going past and the trail kept getting lower in elevation, we each came to realize that the lactate had really built up, and our legs were feeling...bad. Never mind though, I thought to myself, this is ultrarunning after all. So I spun my cap backwards and flipped the "on" switch of what I call "locked in mode". That's where I run as smoothly as I can down the last part of a long route, even if the pace is slow. Josh kept checking in to let us know that we had X miles left, and every time he did, X sounded like a bigger number that I thought it would be (or wanted it to be).

Eventually, all the lakes were in the rearview, and the valley down East Inlet to the parking lot unfolded before us. There was still a surprising amount of color on the aspens, the most we'd seen all day. I'm a sucker for fall color, and seeing this kept me happy as we limped through the last several miles. Josh quipped that "these last five miles have been the best three years of my life". Perfectly stated. No notes.

The last couple of miles held the usual helping of tourists. Pretty thin given the lateness of the season, but we saw the token dog-off-leash-even-though-they're-not-allowed-back-here couple, a family wrapping up a fishing expedition, and a mom and daughter enjoying a glass of wine and the view. Once we hit 26.2, I really didn't feel like continuing, but I just kept tapping into locked-in mode and eventually we made it to the car just as the light was failing.

From there, it was a fist bump and a quick ride into town. We parked, and a drunk woman on the balcony asked us where our lederhosen were (huh?) as we walked over to the pizza restaurant. We each devoured a pie, then I drove the lads back to the first trailhead to get their car. I cranked a Casefile podcast and made the long drive home in the dark, then collapsed into bed and slept like an angel, having been Raptured at last.