Jason and I had numerous vacations planned before some tiny bug shook the planet. All those trips got canceled, except for one. The lone survivor was an outing to Granby, Colorado. Originally, we were going to travel to Granby with a large portion of my family. While this vacation survived COVID, what endured was a mangled version of the initial plan missing many of our loved ones. Still, we got to leave our house for a few days and visit with a sister. At this point, that’s like winning a trip to the moon on a 24-carat spaceship stuffed with cotton candy and waffles. Here’s how our waffle-filled space excursion went.

Preparing for vacations can be a bit stressful. COVID adds extra layers to that stress. I call these COVID Concerns. You worry about coming down with something right before you leave and having to cancel your trip. You imagine you can’t taste all the artificial flavorings on your potato chips or that your throat feels a tiny bit off. Fortunately, at some point these apprehensions become forgotten amongst the thrill of exiting your home.

Even when thrilling, the drive to Granby from Utah is long enough to exhaust, seven or eight hours. It doesn’t really make sense that not moving for hours and hours would make you tired, but sense or no sense, we arrived at our destination pooped.

We put that poop aside the next day and went on a four-mile hike to Strawberry Lake. Trail apps and reviews led us to believe this route would be moderately trafficked, but we only saw a couple groups on the way up and back. Thank you, apps, for making our experience better than our expectations.

We found Strawberry Lake remarkable in a few ways. A significant portion of its surface was covered in water lilies, some of them adorned with large yellow blooms. Even more unusual was the floating plant fen encircling it, a ring of drifting flora. This rare growth is made possible when peat and plant debris become bound by the roots of living plants, a process that requires the perfect conditions and at least 1000 years. One careless step can cause damage only centuries will repair. Hence, Jason and I walked dutifully around to the far side of the lake while it rained on us to get near the water’s edge without encountering any part of the fen. Between that detour and our many photo stops, it took us 4.5 hours to complete this hike. The pleasing path to Strawberry Lake only disappointed in one aspect. Reviews claimed wildflowers were plentiful along its way. We did see some, but after Eagle Point, their numbers were underwhelming.

Before returning to Granby, we made a short stop at Monarch Lake. Monarch Lake is professed to be one of the most striking lakes in Colorado and also one of the most crowded. Since it was near dusk, most visitors had dispersed for the day, but the locations of the remaining parked cars told of a recently overflowing lot. The lake was pretty, but we actually preferred Strawberry’s quirky floating quagmires and lily pads to Monarch’s standard beauty.

The next morning, we spent some time observing birds at the Windy Gap Wildlife Viewing Area. There, a quarter-mile trail offers outlooks on a reservoir, which is home to cranes, pelicans, geese, ospreys, and eagles. While it was fun to watch the birds, a busy sphinx moth proved the most captivating entertainer.

That afternoon, we met up with a sister we hadn’t seen since 2019 because of 2020’s temperament. At State Forest State Park, probably one of the worst-named state parks we’ve visited, we took the American Lakes Trail past Michigan Lakes to Thunder Pass. Thunder Pass reaches 11,360 feet and is a backdoor into Rocky Mountain National Park. There you’ll find no entry booths or rowdy tourists just gorgeous valleys and imposing peaks. Total miles? About 10. Total moose? About 10. On a sad note, a fire started in this pristine area roughly a week after our visit due to a discharging firearm. That fire has since burned over 100,000 acres, and this lovely spot is likely little more than rock and ash at this point.

Before heading home the next day, we commenced one more hike. Clearly, a hiking deficit was the reason behind that decision. The top of Ninemile Mountain was our goal. Luckily, summiting Ninemile Mountain only requires a couple miles of hiking. Why the name then? I have no idea.

This trip was an effective antidote to the tedium of COVID. Positivity propagates where mountains and sisters meet. I came home with a giant blister on my toe, a swollen ankle, an angry heel, a content smile, and of course prized memories of eating cotton candy on the moon.

We had a vacation planned for early July. It became our fourth or fifth one canceled due to COVID… I’ve kind of lost track. Although the original outing was impossible, we didn’t throw in the trip towel. We believed we were entirely capable of coming up with an acceptable alternative. Our acceptable alternative turned out to be much more than satisfactory.

To pick a location for our altered excursion, Jason and I did a deep dive into all the home rentals in the state. Being open to even the obscurest areas gave us plenty of interesting options. A charming cabin was available at a place called Eagle Point. We didn’t let the fact that we had never heard of Eagle Point stop of us from reserving that sucker.

Eagle Point is in Fishlake National Forest. It’s at an elevation of 10,400 feet, keeping it almost 20 degrees cooler than our nape of the woods. In the middle of a hot July, we welcomed that negative 20. We also welcomed Eagle Point’s people deficiency.

On our first day in the area, Jason and I hiked to Delano Peak. Delano Peak is the highest point in the Tushar Mountains, Utah’s third-tallest mountain range after the Uintas and La Sals. It isn’t a typical 12,000-foot+ summit. In our experience, mountains that lofty are usually nothing but massive piles of rock near their tops. Delano was a rolling, grassy contrast. Hardy wildflowers in two dozen varieties colored the hillsides almost up to its pinnacle. However, it was also extremely windy. I had to wear three jackets at the summit. Good thing I am generally overly prepared. In addition to being blown about, Jason and I both got elevation sickness at Delano’s apex in the form of a bad headache that centered around our left temples. Maybe we are getting old, but I’d like to think it had more to do with us being substantially elevated than moderately outdated.

Before I move onto another subject, I believe the trail to Delano Peak deserves a few sentences of its own. This path gains 1,650 feet in 1.5 miles. That’s one foot up for every five feet forward. It’s the kind of steep that gives you grief in both directions. Maybe that’s why we saw more mountain goats than people along route. One human and his canine companion were the only non-hoofed creatures we came across.

My sister and her family joined us the next day. We rented two RZRs, one named Nightwing and the other Martian Manhunter. During the morning, we used our superhero RZRs to access the Lake Stream Trail. We hiked four miles roundtrip to enjoy superb outlooks on Mount Holly and Lake Peak. The path faded into oblivion in some places, discernible only by the occasional marking post. At one point, we completely lost the trail and ended scaling up a long, sheer hillside without it. That may not have been an entirely great idea, but we managed to gracelessly triumph. We encountered 33 different species of resilient wildflower on this hike, many of them diminutive, and zero people.

That afternoon, we maneuvered the RZRs through the Paiute ATV Trail, a system of paths that spans hundreds of miles and is rated one of the top five ATV trails in the United States. Unfortunately, we picked an access point without consulting our map. Had we done so, we might have noticed the section we were headed for was marked “steep, rough, and rocky.” We may have also seen this warning, “Use extreme caution when on these routes.” For RZR novices such as ourselves, no amount of caution could have made up for our deficit of skills. I think that segment took 20 years off some members of our group while others nearly wet themselves. There was some discussion whether we should continue up Sawmill Ridge on Paiute after our rough start. Trail won over road. Fortunately, the rest of our drive was more about the scenery than the obstacles. We made it past Mud Lake to a windy ridge affording fantastic views of Mount Belknap and Mount Baldy.

The rest of our hours were filled with air hockey and ping pong tournaments, along with old 80s movies. Before heading home the next day, we spent a couple hours at Puffer Lake allowing the fishing inclined to reel away.

Most years, Jason and I travel so much our vacations become a bit of a hectic blur. On some occasions, they’ve become two parts enjoyment and one part exhaustion. In contrast, each trip we’ve taken during COVID has taken on all the significance of salvation. Eagle Point will always be part of the squishy space in my heart.