We arrived at the trailhead across I-70 from Idaho Springs as early as we could make it, one sunny Saturday morning. There, we stopped to air down the tires and look over our maps one last time using the little cell service we had. 

Spring Creek had a cutesy name for a trail. It didn’t sound as scary or as difficult as “Cascade Creek” or “Misery Gulch”. But, according to our maps, it was actually a very difficult 4X4 trail to drive, complete with trails made only with mules in mind, sinkholes, caves and abandoned mines, loose , axle-annihilating boulders, 400+ foot cliffs, and unpredictable weather. For that reason, I made sure we came prepared with just enough food and supplies to last us into the next day if, God forbid, something bad happened. 

However, I wasn’t nervous. In fact, I was brimming with confidence and excitement. It’d been a long time since Dad and I went off-roading in the Jeep, and that time, we finally had a winch. A cheap one from Amazon, that is. But, a winch nonetheless. 

Once the tires were properly aired down and we knew where to go, we jumped into the jeep and practically launched ourselves onto the first rough stretch of road; one that bypassed a section of the trail known as “The Wall” less than 200 yards from the trailhead, since we’ve yet to install lockers on the jeep. 

However, we couldn’t help but stop at the first switchback and hike down the trail leading to The Wall. We were curious, and my dad wanted to see if maybe… just maybe… we could try to drive up The Wall in the jeep without lockers. 

Together, Dad and I carefully hiked down the trail leading to the top of The Wall. We were practically sliding down the loose rocks on our asses when we came to the solid grey granite that made The Wall itself. 

“Yeah, there’s no way in hell we’ll get up that.” I immediately shook my head as I stared down that thirty-foot long/tall section of trail. 

“Not without lockers.” Dad added. 

We sat in silence just staring down the wall in awe that some drivers can actually climb that thing, when I began to hear a noise that didn’t belong with the ambience of the breeze through the trees. 

“Hmmmmm.” I growled, “I think I hear someone coming towards the trail.”

“Nah, really? That’s just the wind.” Dad scoffed. 

“I’m dead serious, Dad.” I grinned, just as a lifted, grey Toyota Tacoma rounded the corner below The Wall. 

“There’s no shot they’re making it up this thing.” Dad rolled his eyes. 

“You’re probably right. But I still wanna watch.” 

“Why though?”

“Cuz it’s fun.”

“It’s also embarrassing.” Dad laughed, “I’ll be floored if they make it up the rocks. C’mon, we have a lot of road to cover.”

“Five minutes. Let’s sit here for five minutes and see what they do.”

“Fine!” Dad sighed. 

Meanwhile, the truck below us was already struggling to get over the boulders preceding The Wall. The rocks were loose and massive. Each time they shifted, a hole just big enough to catch one of the truck’s tires would open up, forcing them to back up and try again. Still, they were persistent. For the whole several minutes Dad and I watched them from above, they kept trying to get to the base of the wall, but were unsuccessful. 

“Alright! This is just painful to watch. Let’s go!” Dad clapped his hands, startling me out of my little trance. 

Getting back to the jeep was tough. So tough, in fact, that both Dad and I had to climb up the loose bouldery trail on all-fours at times. But we made it back to the jeep, hoping that The Wall was the worst obstacle, by far, on that entire trail. 

However, our hopes were dashed when we rounded the switchback and were met with a long, steep, narrow trail peppered with massive, axle-grinding boulders, and the occasional fallen tree. But, Dad was fairly confident our little rock crawler could manage it, so long as we weren’t stupid and worked together. 

“Thank God this trail’s only five miles long…” I remarked. 

“Why?” Dad smirked. 

“Cuz five miles isn’t too hard of a hike.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Dad rolled his eyes, “Why you gotta be so negative?”

“Y’mean… realistic?” I said with an ornery grin. 

For the first mile-and-a-half or so, the trail was tedious yet fairly easy to negotiate. I kept an eye on my side to make sure Dad didn’t roll us off the cliff into the valley below, and Dad didn’t dare go faster than ten miles an hour. Then, we came across our first overlook to stop at, complete with an open, abandoned mine to explore. 

“There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’m going in there.” I glared at my dad, after he jokingly dared me to go into the abandoned mine. 

“Why not?” Dad laughed. 

“Why not?” I mocked his voice, “Why not just go into this very old and dangerous mine that will probably collapse if I throw a pebble into it.”

While I didn’t go into the cave, I leaned as far as I felt comfortable towards it to get a few pictures of it. Five pictures later, I felt a hand push me forward on my shoulder.

“Fuck off!” I snapped as I scrambled down the dirt and shale pathway towards the jeep, half laughing, half snarling. 

Dad thought he was the funniest man alive in that moment. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so amused (though, looking back, I think it’s funny now). 

After taking pictures of the cave, I moved to the other side of the trail to get pictures of western Idaho Springs and I-70 from above. It was an awesome view, to say the least. Not nearly as spectacular as some views (thanks to the traffic and trailer park below), but still awesome regardless. 

Once again, once we got bored of the views that would give any non-Coloradan chills, we got back into the jeep and made our way forward, further up the treacherous trail. A trail so treacherous, in fact, that I had to make my dad stop so I could drink some water without spilling it all over the place. 

But, then we rounded another switchback, and all of a sudden, we were no longer so care-free. 

“I’m gonna have to get out and help ya, ain’t I?” I asked as I stared ahead at the trail, which was hardly wide enough for a side-by-side to drive through, let alone the jeep. 

“Yup.” 

“A’ight. Let’s do this!” I nodded as I carefully got out of the jeep, one hand holding my camera, the other holding onto the jeep so I didn’t fall to my death if a rock shifted below my boots. 

I’m not exaggerating when I say the trail was that narrow. If it wasn’t that narrow, there’d be no reason for Dad to kick me out of the jeep to help him maneuver around the boulders and fallen trees. But, I wasn’t afraid at all. I already had a path planned out for the jeep by the time I made it halfway up that section of trail and began to guide him using my finger to point where to put the tires. At a snail’s pace, Dad drove the jeep up the trail, one obstacle at a time, while I made sure to keep the jeep from falling into a soft spot or high-centering itself on a rock. During all this, I didn’t forget to take a few pictures, but I was far too focused on keeping my dad and the jeep on the trail to do anything “artsy” with my photography. 

Once Dad got around a particularly nasty boulder on the trail, I gave him the “go ahead” sign to punch it forward to a spot where I could get inside. Dad was in a mischievous mood that day, and tried to scare me by pointing the jeep’s tires right at me and revving the engine while I was still in the way. But, after the mine incident, I wasn’t phased by his ridiculousness at all, and just stood in front of the jeep, arms crossed, till he stopped revving the engine. 

Once the jeep was back onto a wider section where the trail bent back into the trees, I got back inside and worked on cleaning my camera’s lens while we raced over small rocks and mud puddles along the not-so-scary trail. In the silence, I noticed that we forgot to turn the Bluetooth speaker on, so I could assault our ears with my Redneck Off-Road playlist, I’d created specifically for our trail rides. So far, Dad tolerates the music I listen to, but I don’t think he likes it that much (to be fair, nobody I know except for my Minnesota cousins listen to the shit I d0). 

Regardless, Dad said nothing as Ryan Upchurch’s song, “Rattlin’ Chains” began to play over the rugged sound of the jeep racing the mountain trails.

It wasn’t long before we came across another obstacle on the trail: a near-vertical, jeep-wide, jeep-deep rut with loose rocks piled along the center part of the trail. Nearly every tree lining that section of the trail was dead, with winch marks worn through the bark and deep into the poles of each one. When I got out to see just how impassible that section of the trail was, I couldn’t even get up it on all fours, as the rocks kept slipping beneath my feet. The only way I could get up that trail was to clamber up onto the land above it. However, the jeep obviously couldn’t do that. 

“Dad, I’m not sure we can make this…” I said with a scowl back inside the jeep. 

“Oh really?” Dad asked as he began to reverse the jeep, presumably to turn around. 

But, I recognized the determination in his tone of voice, just as he punched the gas, nearly throwing me into the backseat before I could snap my seatbelt into place. 

As much as the jeep was slipping and sliding on those rocks, we were making steady progress up the 200-yard-long rut. At the end of the rut, we blasted out of it with so much speed that the front tires were launched roughly three feet off the ground. We skidded to a stop upon landing, and we couldn’t help but whoop and holler from the thrill of it. 

According to our maps, we were at the crest of the mountain and halfway to the end of our ride. We found a place off the trail to park the Jeep, then we got out to stretch our legs and relax for a bit. Dad and I were both sore, exhausted, and hungry. I’d brought plenty of snacks, but we wanted lunch!

“So… we’ve been on this trail for what? An hour?” I asked as my stomach growled. 

“Seems like it.” Dad shrugged, “I think we’re at the top of the mountain, so now we just gotta focus on getting down. It can’t take us more than an hour to get down, meaning we’ll get back to Idaho Springs in time for a late lunch.”

“Oh good.” I smiled, “I’ll be starving by the time we get down!”

“So will I.” Dad agreed, “So will-”

Suddenly, a cacophony of screams echoed through the rocks and woods from the base of the mountain. Dad and I both jumped, thinking we were hearing either an entire pride of mountain lions, or the souls of the damned. But, then we heard the same voices laughing and shouting between screams, and we both relaxed. In the canyon far below us was the Clear Creek river, which was (and is) a very popular white-water rafting river. As Dad and I stood in silence, straining our ears, I could hear the sound of the rushing river between the wind gusts rushing through the pines around us, while the screams and shouts gradually faded with the rafters. 

“We should do that one day.” Dad mused, “You’re up for it now, aren’t ya?”

“Uhhhhhh… I don’t think so.” I shook my head. 

Before Dad could say anything more, I trotted off into the woods towards the other side of the mountain to get some pictures of the scenery, and to just relax in the quiet ambience. 

 

Cautiously, I climbed up some grey granite boulders to get a good look of the treeless mountains to the west. Even in early August, there were still patches of snow up on those barren peaks. Not enough to ski down on, but certainly enough to count as a handful of Colorado’s 3500 glaciers (there are only 14 named glaciers in the state). Once I found my balance atop a flat rock that jutted out over the side of the mountain, I aimed my camera westward and snapped several pictures. After that, I just stood there and marveled in the views and silence of the mountains. 

Between wind gusts hissing through the pines, it was ear-ringingly silent. It was obvious to me that we were alone on that mountain. Far above the tourist traps and highway below. To me, the silence was pure bliss. For once, I felt that I could fully relax and just breathe that mountain air. But, just as I was getting to a meditative state, I heard my name echoing through the hills. 

“Alright, I’m coming!” I called back to my dad, as I leapt down the boulders, and skidded my way down the loose soil back to the jeep. 

A quarter mile down the trail later, we came to a fork in the road. The road to our left seemed impassibly steep, with huge, jagged boulders sticking out from the dusty trail to form a series of ledges and potholes that seemed deep enough to high-center us if we didn’t do things perfectly. Straight ahead, the road seemed rather easy, albeit narrow. However, it wasn’t showing up on our maps, which made us a bit worried. 

“Is this a bypass?” I asked as we got out of the jeep and scouted our surroundings. 

“Looks like it.” Dad replied, “It ain’t on the map though, so I can’t tell.”

“I don’t see any ‘no trespassing’ signs or anything. Looks pretty clear ahead to me. Cuz there’s no way in hell we’re getting up that trail.”

“Not without a winch, that is.”

I scowled with suspicion towards the winch my dad had bought off of Amazon for less than $300. I didn’t exactly have much faith in that thing. Considering that we were completely alone with no cell service and nobody coming through on the CB, I figured it was safest to give the “bypass” a shot, or simply turn around and go back the way we came. 

“Oh, c’mon!” Dad smirked when he noticed my glare, “It’ll be fine!”

“Let’s take this bypass first and see where it leads us.” I said with my arms crossed. 

“Oh, alright.” Dad rolled his eyes, “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Shut up, Dad!” I scoffed back. 

Cautiously, we proceeded forward onto the bypass trail. It was narrow and slightly overgrown, but it was still clearly a fairly well-traveled trail that cut deeply into the mountainside. There were a few places where small trees had fallen over onto the road. But, we simply rolled over them with ease. However, when we rounded a corner a little ways into the woods, we skidded to a stop. Blocking our path was a rusted cowcatcher, still attached to a couple of equally decayed steam engine front wheels. Beyond it, the trail was completely overgrown, with ten-year-old trees sprouting from between the rotting rail planks that wound around the mountain. 

“Well then…” I shrugged, “Guess we ain’t gonna get any farther today?”

“Guess not.” Dad replied, “That’s okay though. We had fun. Now, help me back this thing outta here!”

The road was too narrow for my dad to comfortably turn around on it, so I had the role of guiding him on foot as he backed the Jeep off that little “bypass”. We didn’t go far, so it took us less than ten minutes to return to the main trail. Once there, Dad got out and began to scout the bouldery ledge once again, still thinking about giving that trail another shot. Meanwhile, I simply stood leaned up against the jeep, nodding along while my dad mapped out his plans aloud. 

In the middle of my dad’s rambling, a new sound caught my ear. I turned to face the direction from which it was coming from; the trail we’d take home if we couldn’t overcome the boulders. Dad noticed that I’d fallen silent and was staring over my left shoulder, and turned just in time to see a familiar Toyota Tacoma approaching us. 

When it stopped, two men and a dog jumped out of it. The driver, a very stout guy with a cigar in his teeth, smiled as he asked, “Y’all having trouble?”

“Not really,” I replied, “We’re just trying to figure out if we can get over that ledge.”

“I see.” the man said as he glanced over at the trail in question, “Why don’t we give ‘er a shot first, and y’all follow?”

“Works for me.” I said, “What’d you think about that idea, Dad?”

“Works for me!” he answered in the same exact way I did. 

Dad backed up the jeep just enough to let the Tacoma take the lead. Dad figured if the Tacoma could overcome that obstacle without a winch, surely we could with a winch, as cheap and sketchy as I thought it was.