On a recent July morning, a four-car caravan carrying a dozen women rolled into the remote Hunter-Fryingpan Wilderness in Pitkin County, kicking up the dust on a bumpy unpaved road. As the group unloaded at the trailhead and started gearing up for a highly anticipated backpacking trip, the serene forest was suddenly overcome with the kind of lively energy that comes from decades-long friendships.
Trip organizer Helen Graham passed out bags of food that she had divvied up with the nightap meal so that everyone shared the load. Nalgene bottles frozen full of raw scrambled eggs for the following morning’s breakfast were tucked in people’s packs to keep the salmon and salad ingredients chilled.
Denise Larsen had the all-important task of carrying the wine. “Who wants to hike with me?” she asked, joking that if she and buddy got lost at least they’d have the most important provision, right next to the roll of toilet paper strung to her pack by bungee cord.
The women were preparing to ascend 1,200 feet in elevation to the Betty Bear Hut, one in a robust network of off-grid cabins throughout Colorado known as the 10th Mountain Division Huts. The huts, which are available for rent, provide shelter to backcountry skiers, hikers, sheep herders and others exploring the state’s alpine wilderness.
Though this specific hut was new to the women, the experience was not. Every year since 1997, they have chosen a different hut for a one-night stay, embracing an opportunity to push themselves physically, cook a gourmet meal and simply enjoy each other’s company. Itap a summer ritual they endearingly call the Hen Hike, and when it started, the women were new moms seeking a brief moment of self-care out in the Rocky Mountains. Now most are in their 60s with enough life experiences to fill the packs they carried.
This year marked the 30th annual excursion, and while everyone’s lives have changed with time, the spirit of the reunion remains the same.
“Life is filled with challenges and hurdles and opportunities and people and business and stress. But itap super important to take time for yourself and recharge. This group allows us to do that,” Graham said.
Graham is the unabashed matriarch of the flock, who every year chooses the destination, books the hut, plans the menu, does meal prep, and designs the commemorative T-shirts. The others affectionately call her Head Hen and describe her as the nucleus of the group.
“She is organized beyond repair,” said Karen Fleming of Conifer, who was part of the original crew and has attended all but two Hen Hikes. “I just go and say, ‘Yes, that sounds great.'”
Graham planned the first Hen Hike after attending a similar, ladies-only adventure in the late 1980s that traversed from Aspen to Crested Butte, over the Maroon Bells, and back. Graham had been a tagalong in that bunch and thought it would be even more memorable to backpack with women she was close to, including her mother, who attended the first two events.
For their inaugural voyage, the Hens hiked to the Jackal Hut near Camp Hale, outside of Leadville. It was a grueling, steep climb most remember as an exercise in bushwhacking after the group got lost and had to make their own trail. That didn’t deter them from returning to Jackal Hut to commemorate the 10th and 20th annual Hen Hikes, though it’s since been blacklisted.
“It’s an ugly hike, and we’ve done it enough. We don’t need to climb up this stony dirt road anymore,” said Centennial resident Sue Smith, another original member with 25-plus hikes under her belt. “We like the meadows and the trees, and going in and out of the flowers, and getting on our stomachs and taking pictures, and running into moose.”
In the early years, where the ladies hiked was largely decided by how far they had to drive from the Denver area, where most of them lived. After all, they had young children at home and could only get away for so long. But as time wore on and their kids grew into young adults, the women were able to venture further into the mountains.
Graham now lives in Tucson, Ariz. and returns each summer for the hut trip. This year’s destination, the Betty Bear Hut, was the most remote location they’ve ever sought out, requiring an overnight stay at an Airbnb in Carbondale and then a nearly two-hour drive into the wilderness to reach the trailhead the next day. The extra time was well spent catching up, since many of the hikers now only see each other once a year for this special event.
“I keep coming back because of the people,” said Kelli Kane, who joined her first Hen Hike in the early 2000s. “Itap a group of very strong, courageous women and everyone is welcoming.”
Courage is a prerequisite for this backpacking trip, since it involves a high level of physical activity, no running water and usually a little bit of improvisation. A few years ago, for instance, the Hens reached a hut after a long hike to find the cistern had run dry. They had to locate a stream, forage for water and then haul it back to the hut in large metal packs. Another time, happy hour was almost doomed after someone knocked over the Nalgene bottle of pre-mixed margaritas.
“Helen started licking those margaritas right off the table,” laughed Michelle Wetzel, a Highlands Ranch resident and Hen Hiker of 24 years.
Though the flock has grown to welcome friends of friends into the fold, not everyone has been cut out for the adventure. Once a newcomer arrived ill-equipped for the altitude, the veteran Hens had to rally around her to ensure she made the trek safely. Smith took her pack and another “basically had to carry this woman up and down the mountain,” recalled Castle Rock’s Audrey Kiszla, who’s attended about 20 hikes.
As the Hen Hike has evolved to reach new places and include new faces, the most exciting part of the trip has become dinner. For the last 15 years, Graham has focused on making “MasterChef”-worthy meals that nourish the body and brain — a significant upgrade from the “bad camping” food they ate on the first several trips, she said.
This year’s menu featured poached salmon, asparagus and a citrus salad with lemon-tahini dressing. And, as always, the post-hike happy hour spread included shrimp cocktail, a hummus and veggie platter, and plenty of wine. (The trick is to buy boxed wine and pack only the bags, said Larsen, noting the optimal ration is “as much as we can carry.”)
Graham began intentionally focusing on cooking healthy meals not just because they’re delicious, but also because nutrition plays an important role in supporting brain health. She understands that firsthand from years spent working with her husband to offer cognitive training to high-performance athletes, individuals with brain injuries and kids with intellectual disabilities like ADHD.
The Hens on this trip ranged in age from 59 to 67, a time in life when it’s important to invest in mental and physical health so they can keep climbing mountains, Graham said — both literally and figuratively.
“We’re all post-menopausal, and the mushy brain of menopause has affected every one of us. It’s disconcerting,” she said. “Some of the bond that we’ve shared has been about going through those changes, being conscious and aware, and asking, what can we do to manage the transition that you’re going through?”
That sentiment perhaps best sums up what makes the Hen Hike such a special tradition. It’s as much about sharing a collective experience in the wilderness as it is sharing life experiences collectively among the women. The opportunities they’ve had to commune rank highly among the Hens’ most cherished memories, up there with the stunning wildflowers, awe-inspiring moose and handsome Argentinian sheep herders they’ve seen along the way.
“We’ve had marriage, we’ve had babies, we’ve had divorce, we’ve had death, we’ve had a lot of things,” said Lisa Platz of Littleton, who joined the hike for the first time 10 years ago after going through a divorce herself. “Some of these people I don’t see as often, but you can pick it up right where you left off.”
Back at the trailhead, the ladies donned their commemorative 30th annual Hen Hike baseball caps and gathered together for the ceremonial pre-hike photo. With a few hoots and hollers, and even a couple clucks, the group took off on their ascent to the Betty Bear Hut. As they disappeared into the forest, the hike felt unmistakably like a metaphor for life’s journey.
The women had come so far together over the last three decades and were now eagerly trudging forward, side-by-side, to whatever came next.
“Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined this becoming what it has become,” Graham said, giving a nod to new events it has inspired, like the Chicks and Hens Hike, which welcomes the next generation of young women to join in the adventure.
How long does she expect the tradition will continue? “As long as possible,” Graham said, “absolutely.”
