In This Issue
- Flanigan’s EcoLogic: Hiking Aspen’s Lost Man Loop
- A Green Hydrogen Future?
- Residential Fuel Cells for Energy Resilience
- General Electric’s Green Pivot
- Walmart’s Regneration
- California To Ban Gas-Powered Cars
- Mandragore
- China’s Carbon Neutrality Commitment
Flanigan’s EcoLogic: Hiking Aspen’s Lost Man Loop
September 21, 2020, Aspen, Colorado: Gorgeous fall day, the aspen leaves turning yellow and orange, painting great swaths of shimmering gold on the mountainsides, accenting rockslides and meadows. Hillsides carpeted in reds and oranges and browns, enchanted.
Not sure why the drive up Independence Pass the other day made me queasy. It is scary, but I’ve been up and down that incredible road perhaps a hundred times. I’ve biked to the summit a half dozen times. Heading up, out of Aspen, there are dangerously steep drop-offs to the right. It’s a narrow, winding road, with traffic coming at yah. Yikes. Some guy with a trailer. Every year a car or two topples off this harrowing road. This year a lucky lady lived after her car tumbled 500 feet down the cliff.
Made it… to the lower trailhead for Lost Man Loop that is. We drop my rental and I jump into my brother’s new Bolt, and we proceed to the upper trailhead passing the ghost town of Independence. Hard to imagine living and mining there. Such altitude, exposed mountain slopes, avalanches of rocks and ice. The trail takes off from the final switchback, just before the road towers to the summit, arcing in a 6% grade trajectory to Independence Pass at 12,095 and the Continental Divide.
Out of shape? No. Acclimated? Not that either. There’s thin air up here. We begin to hike at 11,506 feet. We’re above tree line; the trail follows a small, gurgling stream. The rocks are covered with lichen. The higher we get, the more pervasive the rocks are. No wonder they call these the Rockies! That makes the trail a bit treacherous. You want to take in all the views, but gotta keep your eyes on the rocks. We pass the little lake… so peaceful, perched so high in the Rockies.
A marmot pops up to check us out. For me it’s tough going… nearly two hours of steady incline to Lost Man Pass at 12,810 feet. As we crest an incline, it’s a Sound of Music moment… the hills are alive. The magnificence of the Rockies is omnipresent. Just to the East is Mount Elbert, Colorado’s highest fourteener at 14,439 feet. This is massive geology. We can see for miles; humbled by the scale of these mountains.
There’s snow on the way down to Lost Man Lake, the remnants from a freak early winter storm a few weeks before. Colorado had an unprecedented 60-degree temperature swing, from the heat of summer to snow. We slip and slide a bit on the mushy snow on the trail. I make a snowball and throw it. At the lake we take basic lunch, apples, PBJ, carrots, and granola bars.
For the next hours we’re on a steady decline. The Lost Man Loop trail meanders, following the valley floor. We pass willows thirsting on streams. The wind whips through the valley. We traverse hillsides, rounding our way downstream. It’s a massive and enchanted valley completely devoid of human civilization. This is a cathedral. We’re breathing in the splendor of the mountains. We’re struck by the patterns in the carpet of grasses made by streams.
As we get lower the ecosystem and its flora changes. We walk through evergreen forests; the stream is now bigger. My legs are tired, I’m stumbling a bit. A work-out; a fulfilling trek… a bit unending. Then finally, there is it, the telltale reservoir that lets us know that we are getting back to civilization… a welcome parking area on a narrow road ten miles up Independence Pass.
Six days later, and somewhat more acclimated, I hike the Maroon-Snowmass Trail to Snowmass Lake with my life-long friend Robert Sardinsky (Sardo), as well as daughters Sierra and Skye. It’s an 8.5-mile uphill trek from trailhead in Old Snowmass through aspen groves shimmering in the morning light, open meadows, pine forests, traversing rockslides. After five hours we make it! Snowmass Lake is picture post-card perfect, a broad expanse of clear cold water shimmering, surrounded by fourteeners, topped off with billowing clouds and fantastically clear blue skies above. We take lots of pictures and breathe in the grandeur and intense beauty of it all. The 17-mile roundtrip leaves us wobbly that evening, inspired and yes, a bit beaten up.