Autumn View Above Bear Lake
Bear Lake, Longs Peak, and a Mountain Blue Sky
I remember seeing the image for the first time at Richard Hahn’s Alpenglow Images and Accents in downtown Estes Park. It was one of those images that caused me to gasp, to stop in awe of the beauty, the amazing yellow and orange colors of fall aspen Richard had captured. They framed Bear Lake below, Longs Peak in the distance, and a mountain blue sky above. I knew I wanted to replicate it.
So on September 30, 2020, I walked Bear Lake. Looking at the mountainside, glancing back at Longs Peak, I tried to visualize the location up on the hill.
Only a couple of months before I’d retired to life in Estes Park, I had spent the previous thirty-seven years in suit pants and a striped tie, most of my time existing behind a desk in an office while leading a school district. Years of a regularly scheduled sedentary life had created soft legs and a gut like a pot-bellied pig. Despite my squishiness, I was determined to climb to the spot.
Camera strap around my neck, I trekked up the mountain, slipping on loose rocks, pressing my hands against the earth in a spider crawl. Periodically, I stopped, looked down at Bear Lake and over at Longs Peak. I took in the hillside and continued to climb searching for the spot.
Wandering into the aspen, climbing over boulders, I knew I was close, but it was not quite right. As I stood there on wobbly legs gasping for my breath, I took a few camera shots, hoped I'd gotten some nice images, and began to traverse back down the slippery slope.
That afternoon, as I looked at the images I’d captured, I knew they were nice, but I also knew I had not found the exact spot, that perfect spot framed in the yellow and orange leaves of Richard’s image.
So on September 27, 2021, I continued my search. With my belly starting to adapt to life in the mountains, my legs stronger from hikes and days in the field photographing wildlife, I returned to Bear Lake.
My camera backpack on my shoulder and a tripod bag in my left hand, I climbed up toward the colorful aspen. With the extra weight, I stumbled, slipped, but kept moving. My legs were definitely not of my youthful self.
Once at the altitude of the colorful trees, I ventured onto the boulder field climbing cautiously from one to another searching for the right spot. The distant sky was hazy, the colors not as dynamic as the image I wanted, but it was beautiful.
That night, as I showed my wife the images, she asked about the climb. Admittedly it had not been easy on my retired legs and aging body, so I said, “I don’t think that’s a climb I’ll take again.” She answered seriously, “Good decision.”
Then this year, there was an early snow laying a blanket of white over Longs Peak and the surrounding mountains. On September 24, 2025, driving up Bear Lake Road, it was easy to see how beautiful that image above Bear Lake would be with the distant snow-capped mountains. My 2021 conversation with Carolyn echoed warnings in my mind. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to stop and have a walk-around.
Standing on the trail, looking up at the colorful fall mountainside, I felt different. In the five years since my retirement, my belly had reduced to a respectable protrusion, my legs were firmer on the ground. Yet, I had crept into my 70s. As I considered the climb, my artistic mind battled between cautious logic and seeking art. One last trip up the boulder field? One last chance to replicate Richard’s image?
Instead of the slope, I took a hiking trail with the intent of traversing across above the boulder field. It was an easier trek, and when I reached the spot I thought I might be looking for, I climbed gingerly down the boulders. As I fought for balance, I knew it was good Carolyn didn’t know what I was doing.
Then the trees opened before me, and instantly I knew. I had found the exact location of the image I had so admired. Crawling among the boulders, I was thrilled with the confluence of fall colors, snow-capped Longs Peak, and Bear Lake below reflecting a bright blue sky above.
I braced myself against the rocks, balanced my camera, and saw the image in my viewfinder. I took shot after shot knowing these would truly exceed my previous attempts. It was a moment of thrilling appreciation of Rocky Mountain National Park.
That night, I showed Carolyn the picture from the full-frame of my computer. She gasped, and I knew I had captured the image I’d sought since my retirement five years before. “Beautiful,” she exclaimed. Then her brow wrinkled as she glared at me, “You said you wouldn’t climb up there again.”
I smiled, nodding. “It was the last time.” Her stare turned more serious. “You promise?” She insisted. I crossed my fingers before answering. “I promise.”
