​by T. Duren Jones
​

Lost at Lost Lakes!
The causeway is  just three feet wide in places. With sheer drops of several hundred feet, this challenge is not for those prone to vertigo.
My “bucket list” of must-do trail hikes is turning into a short list. Either I’ve done many of them or realize I’m running out of time, and I have had to edit the checklist down. At my age, I’m grateful that I’ve still got good knees, hips, shoulders, feet, back, and eyesight—better than most of my friends. I’m fortunate. Looking at my parents, it seems it is not from good genes. But I’m not getting any younger. I can still do the long hikes, but a thru-hike on the Appalachian Trail is probably off the table.

One hike that my brother-in-law Kevin and I have wanted to do for years is the Lost Lakes Loop Trail in the Flat Tops Wilderness in northern Colorado. This 19.5-mile hike (we did it as a day hike; most would backpack 2-3 days) is outside Steamboat Springs in a 235,406-acre designated wilderness area and, if you choose, ends with the infamous Devil’s Causeway.
Why are so many sightseeing locations named for the devil? 
Picture
Lost, then found, in the Flat Tops Wilderness
I knew I was experiencing something very special, maybe a once-in-a-lifetime event.
There is one word to describe this trail hike (well, there are many words, but I’ll use this): epic.
The causeway portion of this adventure is at 11,800 feet and just three feet wide in places. With sheer drops of several hundred feet, this challenge is not for those prone to vertigo. Some say that nearly everyone who attempts the crossing is quite literally brought to his or her knees, scrambling across the rocky path in a low squat. Sheesh, we had been in worse places.

Allow me to pause and ponder something: Why are so many sightseeing locations named for the devil? We’ve got Devil’s Tower, Devil’s Postpile, Devil’s Lake, Devil’s Golf Course, Devil’s Thumb, and more. Either the devil has a huge ego (which I imagine he does) or we like to name unusual, scary, or creepy natural wonders for Lucifer. May I suggest to chambers of commerce near these locations that they consider more friendly names to increase tourist traffic? Something that replaces the word devil with titles like bunny, kitten, candy, dove, or pillow. Certainly families would flock to see Candy Tower or Puppy Island!

This last July, Kevin and I started up the Lost Lakes Trail above Stillwater Reservoir just after dawn, welcomed by a crisp, cloudless sunrise. The first mile and a half of the trail was quite steep but opened up fabulous views of the Flat Tops Wilderness. Established in 1975, it is the second largest wilderness area in Colorado. We passed through meadows of waist-high wildflowers and reached a saddle at 11,600 feet. A strong, cool breeze forced me to put on my lightweight windbreaker. From here, the trail dropped into a sunny drainage and meandered alternately through spruce and fir forests, open grassy parks and lichen-covered boulder fields. 

There is one word to describe this trail hike (well, there are many words, but I’ll use this): epic. The scenery in every direction revealed why I had this trip on my must-do list. I knew I was experiencing something very special, maybe a once-in-a-lifetime event. Music through my earphones (first time I had ever done this) acted like a soundtrack to my live, 360-degree movie as I walked.

The lost lakes were found—not too hard, as here the trail was well marked and took us shore side of still water that reflected the azure sky, gathering puffy clouds and dark pines. We passed Causeway Lake, Round Lake, Long Lake, Lost Lake, Deep Lake, and more lakes and ponds too numerous to list—many not even named. (May I suggest Kitten Lake for one?) I have never seen so many pristine lakes in one area. I took over 300 photos on this hike. I couldn’t help myself, but Kevin might have been annoyed at my slow, mouth-agape pace. Still, we did want to get back to the SUV before dark. Light and shadow continually crossed the landscape as clouds passed over.

At around 2:30 in the afternoon, after ascending and breaking tree line again, we were lost. The Lost Lakes Trail was supposed to hit the junction of the Chinese Wall Trail … according to the guidebook. Right. According to the book. But the book gave confusing and contradictory instructions. Had the writer/editor even been on this part of the trail?

Concerning times like this, I tell my wife, when I return safely, that I wasn’t really lost. (I don’t want her to worry.) Kevin and I knew exactly where we were. We had maps, GPS, a compass, experience and reasonable thinking. We weren’t lost. We just didn’t know where the trail was. Diane doesn’t buy the distinction.

The book expert took us up the nearly 12,000 ft. Lost Lakes Peak, only to have the trail disappear off the top. Clearly we had made a wrong turn somewhere. It took us almost two hours and about two extra miles (beyond the 19.5) as we retraced our path and looked for the right turnoff. After we found where we had gone off course, the real work began. We trekked our way across high alpine tundra where most of the trail was faint or nonexistent. We had to “connect the dots” by keeping a good eye out for widely spaced rock cairn piles and trail posts. These were probably spaced a half-mile apart, almost requiring binoculars to locate.

It was late in the day now, time lost from my picture-taking stops, removing our boots to ford snowmelt creeks, and the trail reconnoitering to get back on track. We had six miles to cross at exposed elevation. Mercifully, the clouds didn’t dump on us. We had to keep moving, even though we were both exhausted. We did not want to have to cross the dreaded Devil’s Causeway in the dark.

We hit the causeway portion of the trail with just moments to spare before sunset. We hurried to get the last of our journey photographed—especially crossing the three-foot wide part with 1,500 ft. drop-offs on each side—before dusk turned to orange-red then dark gray. Halfway across the narrow passage, we bid the sun good night. We still had miles to go back to the SUV.

With headlamps on, we shambled into the parking lot at 10:15 p.m., dog-tired, walking like old men (no surprise there). We had done it! One more bucket list hike checked off. Epic.

See photos of this trip.

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