My hikes with Scott Smith and his dog Lacy are double-edged endeavors, coupling good company and alpine beauty with challenging terrain and elevations that test my resolve.  Last month, Scott invited me to spend a day in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. “Monday is a hiking day for me…. Interested in joining me and Muerto? I was thinking about Lakes of the Clouds–it’s harder than Greenhorn but not as hard as Horn Lakes…probably looking at an early start since it looks like the monsoons are percolating….”

Scott’s handicapping of the Lakes of the Clouds trail wasn’t exactly spot-on. This trail was friendlier than the Horn Lakes hike we took on last summer, but not by much. We did the out-and-back route that’s just over nine miles. And we topped out at the lower lake (elev. 11,470-feet). It was my first time ever reaching one of the Sangre’s mountain lakes. The vistas were simply spectacular: an alpine valley surrounded by 13,00-foot peaks. The view would cost me my lunch (I’ve never done well at altitude) but I made it.

Both Scott and Lacy were in fine form. They marched right up the trail, fording Swift creek with aplomb. Okay, maybe not with aplomb, but they certainly stomped through that creek with a purpose. There were some sights to behold on the way up to the lake as well. The water fall along the creek and the huge boulder field we passed near the top of the trail come to mind. A tree that had its bark stripped, revealing its grain, caught my eye. I spent about five minutes studying that tree under the guise of trying to make a picture with my phone, but it was actually more of a rest break for me.

And those monsoons Scott mentioned did more than percolate. They poured. A quick aside: southern Colorado got twice as much precipitation this past July compared to July 2013. Not that it rained a whole lot (3.28 inches); it just rained often. As a result, the creek that more or less runs along side the trail, was roaring in spots. The grasses, wildflowers, and aspen were all going full tilt. It was beautiful.

After a leisurely lunch—and my subsequent losing of same—Scott and Lacy and I were treated to a booming Rocky Mountain thunderstorm, highlighted by pea-sized hail. As the hail fell, Scott said it was the longest hailstorm he’d endured in the mountains. “Pretty good vacation day, though,” he quipped. We waited the requisite 15-20 minutes for the storm to pass then sloshed our way down the steamy trail and back to Scott’s car.