Alpine Odyssey

Offroading Colorado's Alpine Loop Scenic Byway

Story and photos by Dan Leeth

The one-lane roadway occupies a narrow shelf notched in the mountain wall. A dark escarpment towers to one side. The road-edge ledge plummets to a gorge-like abyss on the other. I glance at my wide-eyed wife and see her knuckles tensed white around the passenger grab-handle.

This cliff-clutching roadway represents one of the tighter spots on southwestern Colorado's 65-mile-long Alpine Loop Scenic Byway. Crossing two high passes, the popular four-wheel-drive route connects Lake City with Silverton and Ouray. Motorists, including those new to four-wheeling, find the route stimulating but seldom threatening.

"You need four-high and four-low," advises Melenda Lekanof-Baker at the Alpine Loop Interpretative Center. "Ground clearance should be at least ten inches."

Most 4x4 pickups and SUVs can make it. Those lacking an appropriate vehicle can rent one in any of the three gateway communities.

Our drive begins in Lake City, the eastern apex of the three-town triangle. Lunch at the Cannibal Grill allows us to honor the community's most famous former resident, Alferd (yes, Alferd) Packer. In 1874 he led five prospectors into the nearby mountains where they became snowbound. Weeks later, Packer emerged alone, appearing surprisingly well-fed.

"There were seven Democrats in Hinsdale County and you ate five of them!" Judge Melville Gerry supposedly complained later at Packer's murder trial. (Court records show the comment is probably an urban legend.)

After a more socially acceptable meal than Alferd's, we head for the San Juan Soda Company where real ice cream is blended on a five-spindle MultiMixer. It reminds me of the drugstore fountains my grandparents took me to as a kid. I wonder if future generations will feel as nostalgic about today's machine-spewed fast food shakes.

The Alpine Loop is generally open from late May through October. While it can be traversed in one day, many prefer to overnight in one of the loop's corner towns. We opt for the backcountry and pack camping gear, water and what looks to be a six-week supply of food. My wife plans to avoid the Packer party's plight.

Our first leg takes us on a 27-mile drive over Cinnamon Pass. The route passes Lake San Cristobal, Colorado's second largest natural body of water. After four miles, pavement ends and graded gravel begins. Trees border the road, meadows carpet the basin and beaver ponds dot the valley bottomland.

A spur road leads to the town site of Sherman, where nearby mines produced silver, gold, copper and lead in the 1880s. Today, only a few cabins, foundations and "No Trespassing" signs remain.

Two miles beyond, we reach Burrows Park, once a mining camp with its own post office. A pair of abandoned cabins stand near a willow-lined stream.

Across the road, climbers pitch tents at the trailhead for Redcloud and Sunshine peaks, two of Colorado's 14,000-foot summits. Preferring privacy, we camp alone a half-mile up the roadway. A short walk leads to hilltop views of setting sun and blushing summits.

The next morning, we pass browsing deer and more mining remains. A turnoff leads to American Basin, a crag-hemmed valley rife with wildflowers. A sign warns that it's strictly four-wheel-drive from here. I shift into low range and carefully creep up the steepening grade. Traffic heading uphill has the right of way, but courtesy dictates that whoever can most easily move aside does so.

We stop at a cabin perched near timberline where windows open onto towering mountains and a plunging valley. Did its former occupants, I wonder, see beauty or hardship through these openings?

The jerky uphill drive ends at Cinnamon Pass, where people get out to snap photos of each other standing next to the summit sign, 12,640 feet above sea level.

After a few turns down the western side of the pass, the roadway begins a steady descent that's one lane wide with few pullouts. Below lie the remains of Animas Forks. The first miner arrived here in 1873. Three years later the boomtown sported a hotel, general store, saloon, post office and multiple residences. The ore eventually played out, and when the Gold Price Mill moved in 1917, the town became a ghost.

We drop coins into a donation box for a self-guided tour brochure. Our two favorite structures are the bay-windowed Duncan House in the heart of town—and the modern BLM pit toilets by the roadside.

"Most picturesque restrooms in Colorado," claims Scenic Byways coordinator Sally Pearce. "Too bad they don't have windows."

From here a 12-mile extension of the Alpine Loop leads to the town of Silverton. We drive the other way, heading up the 23-mile former stagecoach road over Engineer Pass. Locked in low range, we crawl steadily up hill. While much of the route remains relatively smooth, we occasionally encounter outcroppings where tires must claw and climb over small ledges of bare stone. The secret is to go slowly, aiming wheels for the high points.

A sign marks the turnoff for Ouray. The lower section of the rocky road parallels a river gorge with scant places to pass. Some consider it the toughest, most hair-raising part of the Alpine Loop. Our road continues, soon curving around Engineer Mountain to the top, a saddle well above timberline. A turnoff leads to "Oh Point" overlook, where flower-dappled hillsides slope to emerald valleys and jagged mountains scratch the far horizon.

We cross the 12,800 foot summit of Engineer Pass and start heading downward around more meadows and mining remains. A few hairpins later, the route slips into forest. A quick detour leads to Rose's Cabin, once home to a stagecoach stop and hotel. A short drive beyond, a footpath descends to Whitmore Falls where Hensen Creek pours through a rocky fissure. The remains of Capitol City lie two miles beyond.

In the late 1870s, George T. Lee dreamed of being governor and thought this mountainside site would make an ideal location for Colorado's capital. Lee built his own "governor's mansion" here, reportedly at a cost of $1.00 per brick. The silver crash of 1893 ended both his political dream and Capitol City's chance of becoming Colorado's capital. Today, a few log structures remain amid a scattering of summer homes.

We stop at the site of the Ute-Ulay Mine where the cascading creek now flows through a gaping breach in a ten-story-high dam. Built for electricity generation, the structure now provides a riveting course for kayakers.

County road graders have transformed the lower Loop's gravel surface into sedan-friendly country smoothness. We pass a host of anglers and picnickers. As Lake City draws near, I glance at my wife.

"If you turn loose of the grab-handle, I'll buy you another malt for the drive home."

Dan Leeth is a freelance writer and photographer based in Aurora.