Tag: Estes Park

Josh, Phil, and I returned to Estes Park this summer after a one-year hiatus, and it was as glorious as ever.

I arrived via modern-day Conestoga wagon (pictured below) after a serene drive through Washington, Montana, and Wyoming, including stops along the way to reconnect with old friends in Missoula and Billings.

Josh and Phil arrived shortly thereafter, and we spent a few action-packed days hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park and sampling the area’s golf courses.

On our way up to The Loch, Josh and I spotted a massive bull elk. We gave it a wide berth while it kept watch over its harem of lady elk grazing a few yards away.

Despite our caution, the big fella still ended up chasing us up the trail when some other hikers startled it from the opposite side. I’m not sure we were in any actual danger, but the alacrity of the thing over rough terrain was deeply impressive. As Phil noted, it’s got natural four-wheel drive.

Another highlight was traversing Trail Ridge Road en route to Grand Lake Golf Course, a surprisingly upscale routing through the hills just west of the namesake lake.

The East Troublesome Fire in 2020 charred the surrounding pine forest, leaving the course with a distinctly lunar feel. This was echoed by the insane carry of the ball at over 8,000 feet in elevation, which no doubt helped me to record one of my all-time longest drives at 339 yards.

I’m pleased to report that the WesTex BBQ food truck is still in operation in Estes Park and is still as tasty as ever. We also enjoyed a fancy dinner at Bird & Jim (thanks, Mom!), which did not disappoint. Pro tip: try the elk sirloin; it’s incredible (sorry, Mr. Elk).

On the return trip, I piloted the wagon via I-70 through Glenwood Springs, where I spent the night in the Hotel Colorado. Built in the 1890s by silver magnate Walter Devereux, the grand sandstone structure sits across from the world’s largest hot springs pool.

For scale, note the guy climbing the diving board in the image above. Unfortunately, I arrived too late to take a dip in the healing waters, but I made a mental note to come back.

The rest of the trip, via Utah, Idaho, and Oregon, was pleasantly uneventful, and the trusty wagon now sits, freshly washed, in the garage, awaiting our next adventure.

Thanks for reading!

My friends Josh and Phil met me in Estes Park for a little golf and hiking getaway. We stayed at my family’s cabin, which was built in the early 1900s by my great great grandfather, William Smedley. He was a dentist in the Denver area but came up to Estes Park in the summers to take care of miners who needed some teeth pulled. In fact, the structure was actually a dental office before it was converted to a cabin in the 1920s.

Like many in my family, I had been coming to the Estes Park cabin for at least a few days almost every summer from childhood through my 30s. Somehow, life got in the way, and more than a dozen years has passed since my last visit, when my husband Jason and I drove out from Santa Monica with our daughter, Rosie. She’s pictured below hiking with my mom and grandmother, representing three generations (four if you count me, the photographer). My grandmother was 92 years old at the time.

I can hardly believe it took me so long to come back. I suppose I wanted to explore other locales. But also, having visited so often throughout my childhood, I may simply have failed to recognize just how special the place is.

That magic all came roaring back these last few days. The mountains seemed more majestic than ever, the cabin more charming, and the local muni golf course more challenging and fun than I remembered.

Even the town, which had always seemed to me a kind of kitschy tourist trap, boasted a surprisingly level of culture. I’d never had a memorably good meal in Estes Park in all of my prior visits. But on this trip, we enjoyed several terrific outings, including one of the best pulled pork sandwiches of my life from a local food truck.

This was my first visit to the cabin since my grandmother passed away in 2021 at age 106. Going through her things, I found an old photo of her and a friend standing by the shore of Gem Lake, a picturesque pool of snowmelt hemmed in by the rounded granite of Lumpy Ridge.

On this trip, I dragged my friends up the unexpectedly steep trail to the same lake, where I took a rare selfie, not too far from where some of her ashes are scattered.

We also enjoyed hikes to Mills Lake, Dream Lake, and Emerald Lake, all of which are pictured below.

As I write this, sitting in the Denver airport, I’m already looking forward to my next visit.