Three Days in the Mummy Range: Backpacking to Lawn Lake & Crystal Lakes

August 14–16, 2026 | Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado

Only a few weeks had passed since Bill and I returned from our journey through Alaska and western Canada. After thousands of miles of highways, gravel roads, glaciers, and northern landscapes, August brought me back to a very different kind of adventure—trading the vehicle for a backpack and returning to the trails of Rocky Mountain National Park.

Every year, Greg and I try to spend a weekend backpacking together in RMNP, a tradition that has become one of my favorites. This would be our fourth backpacking trip together in the park, and once again, we chose an area that offered something new.

After more than a decade of exploring Rocky Mountain National Park, there are still places I somehow haven’t reached. Lawn Lake and the Crystal Lakes were among them.

That was about to change.

Into the Mummy Range

Our adventure began Friday morning at the Lawn Lake Trailhead, near the entrance to Old Fall River Road in the northern portion of Rocky Mountain National Park. Packs loaded for three days in the backcountry, Greg and I set off toward our campsite at Ypsilon Creek.

Our home for the next two nights was about three miles from the trailhead at 9,620 feet, tucked into a lodgepole pine forest between the Roaring River and Ypsilon Creek.

The trail wasted little time climbing. During the first mile, the rocky path gained elevation steadily as it wound above the Roaring River. Below us, water tumbled through a boulder-strewn channel bordered by willows, aspens, and dense stands of pine. At times we could hear the rushing water before we could see it through the trees.

As the grade eventually eased, the forest began to open. Through breaks in the trees came our first glimpses of the mountains ahead, with Ypsilon Mountain and Fairchild Mountain rising above the forest—a preview of the high country waiting for us the following day.

For much of the hike, the Roaring River remained nearby as the trail carried us deeper into the Mummy Range and closer to camp.

A Camp Between Two Waters

At the signed junction for the backcountry sites, we turned toward Ypsilon Creek and followed a quieter trail through the lodgepole forest, crossing the rushing water on a rustic wooden footbridge before reaching our campsite.

The Ypsilon Creek site was even nicer than I expected: a spacious opening beneath tall pines with a floor of soft needles. The Roaring River was down the slope to the east, while Ypsilon Creek flowed nearby to the west. A short trail from camp gave us easy access to the creek for filtering water.

We dropped our packs and settled in. Soon our tents were tucked beneath the trees, Greg’s hammock was strung between the pines, and a blue tarp stretched overhead to give us a sheltered place to relax. With the heavy packs finally off our shoulders, the afternoon slowed into the rhythm I love about backpacking.

By evening, clouds began spilling low across the forested mountainsides. The blue sky disappeared, the light softened, and portions of the ridges vanished behind drifting clouds.

Then the storm arrived.

Rain tapped against the tarp and tents while thunder rolled through the mountains and lightning flashed beyond the trees. Fortunately, we were already settled for the night, so Greg and I hunkered beneath the tarp and watched it move through. After such a dry Colorado summer, there was something especially enjoyable about simply sitting in the forest listening to the rain.

When the storm eased, the dusty trail had turned dark and damp, pine needles glistened with water, and low clouds still clung to the mountains. The air carried that unmistakable smell of wet earth and pine. I pulled on more layers than I had expected to need in mid-August, but the cool, damp night made for comfortable sleeping weather.

Morning After the Storm

Saturday morning felt completely different. Sunlight filtered through the pines while Greg and I made breakfast. The forest was already beginning to shake off the previous night’s rain. As we followed the narrow camp trail back toward the main route, moisture clung to the plants and rocks, and wisps of steam rose wherever the morning sun touched the damp forest floor.

Lawn Lake would be our first destination, but the Crystal Lakes were the real reason we had chosen this route.

Once we rejoined the Lawn Lake Trail, the climbing began again. Rocky switchbacks carried us steadily uphill through pine and spruce, occasionally becoming little more than a path through loose stones and granite slabs. The shade kept the morning comfortably cool, while the damp air smelled strongly of wet earth and pine.

Below us, the Roaring River continued through the gorge, tumbling over broad slabs of rock and squeezing between enormous boulders. We would catch flashes of water through the trees before the trail disappeared back into the forest.

The rain had also brought the forest floor to life. Mushrooms appeared everywhere—three or four different kinds that we noticed—pushing through damp pine needles or tucked beside rocks and fallen logs. The most striking was a brilliant red mushroom dotted with white patches, bright enough to stop us in our tracks.

As we climbed higher, the dense forest gradually began to thin. The trail opened to increasingly wide views of the mountains, with rocky slopes above us and water winding through the greener valley below. We were moving into the subalpine, and with each turn the landscape seemed to reveal a little more of where the trail had been leading.

Lawn Lake

I knew Lawn Lake was large, but I hadn’t expected it to feel quite that large.

After miles of climbing through forest, the trail opened into a broad mountain basin. The lake stretched beneath the surrounding peaks, with Mummy Mountain and Fairchild Mountain framing the water while summer clouds drifted overhead.

Greg and I found a quiet spot along the shoreline, dropped our packs, and sat down for a snack. The water was clear along the edge, reflecting the changing sky and mountains around us. Then, somewhere across the basin, an elk bugled.

Sitting beside an alpine lake surrounded by high peaks while an elk called in the distance was one of those simple moments that captures the spirit of Rocky Mountain National Park better than any photograph ever could.

Before we continued, hikers coming down from the Crystal Lakes gave us a warning. Several moose—four or five, they estimated—had been hanging around farther up the route. At one point, they had occupied the trail long enough that hikers waited about 45 minutes for them to move.

With that in mind, we shouldered our packs and continued around Lawn Lake, paying a little closer attention to the willow-filled terrain ahead.

Beyond Lawn Lake

The trees thinned quickly as the trail climbed higher, and the scale of the surrounding mountains became impossible to ignore. Across one enormous slope, the trail toward Crystal Lakes appeared as little more than a faint line. Far ahead, another backpacker was moving along it, but against the mountain they looked almost like a tiny shrub or dot. It was a perfect reminder of just how small we were within this landscape.

The route climbed through rocky slopes, short switchbacks, and patches of thick willow. Water seemed to be everywhere—small streams crossing the basin and waterfalls spilling down the surrounding rock. After hearing about the moose, it wasn’t difficult to understand why they favored this area.

The higher we climbed, the more impressive the view became behind us. Lawn Lake, which had seemed enormous while sitting beside it, now lay far below as a silver-blue shape surrounded by forest, wetlands, and winding streams.

Eventually we reached the trail junction: one direction toward The Saddle, the other toward the Crystal Lakes. We turned toward Crystal, where the established trail became narrower and more primitive, crossing open tundra, granite, and low alpine vegetation.

Before the main lake came Little Crystal Lake, a smaller, quiet body of water tucked among the rocks and alpine greenery. It felt like an introduction to what was waiting just a little farther uphill.

Crystal Lake

At approximately 11,540 feet, Crystal Lake sits beneath the massive rocky walls of Fairchild Mountain. After all the miles and climbing, reaching it felt like the reward for everything that had brought us there.

The basin opened around us in granite, steep mountain walls, and brilliantly blue water. When the sun broke through the clouds, the lake seemed to light up, shifting from deep blue to turquoise along the shallower edges.

And yes, there had to be a little celebration: Crystal at Crystal Lake.

The lake felt completely different from Lawn Lake. Instead of a broad open basin, Crystal Lake was tucked beneath towering rock walls, with exposed granite surrounding the shoreline and boulders scattered along the water’s edge. Nearby, small pools collected among the rocks, reflecting fragments of cloud and blue sky.

Greg and I found a rocky outcropping above the water and sat there for a while, taking it all in. The mountain towered over the basin, while the blue water stretched below us.

There was no reason to rush. Sometimes reaching a destination really is that simple. You climb, you arrive, and then the mountains do the rest.

Crystal Lake had been missing from my RMNP map of memories for years. Now Greg and I were sitting beside it together, high in the Mummy Range, watching the sunlight move across the water. It had been worth the wait.

On our way back down from the Crystal Lakes, we finally spotted two of the moose the hikers had warned us about earlier. They were bedded down well off the trail among the willows and rocks, far enough away that they nearly disappeared into the landscape. From a distance, the easiest thing to pick out was the set of antlers rising above the brush like a few stray twigs.

Racing the Mountain Weather

Of course, this was August in the Colorado high country, and the bright morning wasn’t going to last forever. As the afternoon wore on, clouds began building over the mountains. Greg and I started making our way back toward Lawn Lake and eventually camp, watching the sky as we descended.

By the time we were among the trees again, the storm had caught us. Rain returned, and at one point a little hail joined in—classic Colorado mountain weather turning a calm afternoon into something completely different within minutes.

That single day had taken us through damp forest, cool subalpine terrain, open tundra, mountain lakes, sunshine, building clouds, rain, and hail. Somehow, that felt completely appropriate.

One More Night in the Backcountry

That evening brought us back beneath the pines. After a long day of hiking and changing weather, our tents were waiting, the creek was still flowing nearby, and there was nowhere else we needed to be.

That slower rhythm is one of the reasons I love backpacking. The day becomes shaped by simple things—daylight, weather, food, water, and the trail beneath your feet.

After the enormous scale of Alaska and Canada only a few weeks earlier, this weekend felt wonderfully simple by comparison: a backpack, a campsite in the woods, a trail leading higher into the mountains, time with Greg, and eventually a good book at the end of the day.

Camp was quiet, familiar, and exactly where I wanted to be.

The Walk Back Out

Sunday morning, we packed up camp and began the hike back toward the Lawn Lake Trailhead. The same trail that had carried us into the backcountry two days earlier now felt familiar beneath our feet, and with lighter packs and no destination still waiting ahead, the walk out had an easier rhythm.

As we descended, one overlook opened into a wide view across the park. Longs Peak rose unmistakably in the distance, and the switchbacks of Trail Ridge Road stretched across the mountain side.

By the time we reached the trailhead, we had traveled approximately 17 miles, climbed about 3,200 feet, and reached a high point of 11,540 feet at Crystal Lake.

But the numbers weren’t what stayed with me.

It was the elk bugling across Lawn Lake. The smell of wet pine after Friday’s thunderstorm. Steam rising from the forest the next morning. Bright mushrooms pushing through damp pine needles. Waterfalls scattered across the alpine basin. And that first view of brilliant blue Crystal Lake beneath Fairchild Mountain.

Most of all, it was another backpacking trip shared with Greg—our fourth together in Rocky Mountain National Park.

After reaching the trailhead, there was only one appropriate way to celebrate: ice cream in Estes Park.

After more than a decade of exploring Rocky Mountain National Park, there are still lakes I haven’t seen, trails I haven’t walked, and corners of the mountains waiting to be discovered.

I hope I never run out.