05/17/2026
In Glenwood Canyon, on Colorado’s Western Slope, the trail begins near the Colorado River, ascending roughly 1,200 feet over 1.2 miles. It’s a short distance on the map and a long one on the legs—a steep, almost 19‑percent grade that pushes legs and lungs through a narrow stone gulch.
In August 2020, the Grizzly Creek Fire burned more than 32,000 acres in the canyon, and many people around the country—and around the world—held their collective breath, waiting to see if this natural treasure would survive the flames. Although the fire itself spared the lake, its aftermath did not. Hanging Lake turned into a muddy mess after the debris flows, losing its famously clear turquoise water temporarily from the influx of sediment. The burned slopes shed water like raw, burned skin—hot, exposed, and tender, as if the land had been scorched and then left to weep. Debris flows came down in waves, tearing up and burying the lower trail and scarring the vegetation. For a year it was closed while the trail was rebuilt—not just restored, but improved and upgraded.
The trail to the lake can be challenging for some and is generally listed as moderate to difficult. It is rocky and uneven, threaded with stair‑like stone steps—less than ideal terrain for bad knees or weak ankles.
Nonetheless, it is very popular, particularly in the summer and on weekends, with entry managed by timed passes purchased in advance. The estimated hike time to the lake is 1.5–2 hours, mostly because of the steep elevation gain.
The prize at the end is Hanging Lake, at 7,323 feet ASL—a stunning turquoise pool that seems to hang suspended above the steep, narrow gulch below. The basin formed when a section of the valley wall slipped along a fault, shearing off and dropping just enough to create a depression no larger than a small field, about one and a half acres. The lake rests on a bed of travertine, or tufa, built slowly from calcium carbonate in mineral‑rich water from the West Fork of Dead Horse Creek and the groundwater that feeds it. Over time, that water built a rim, shaped a shoreline, and continues to pour itself over the upper edge in silvery, luminous ribbons that glisten in the early‑morning light.
The lake was reportedly first seen by a prospector exploring the Dead Horse Creek drainage; from above on the White River Plateau, he looked down and saw the turquoise lake hanging on the steep cliff face, giving it its name.
For me, it’s been a long wait. It took the better part of a decade to stand there. The first attempt was stopped by a rock slide that closed the interstate for days. The second was swallowed by the smoke and uncertainty of the Grizzly Creek Fire. The third was turned back by a massive mudslide that closed the canyon the night before.
On this mid‑May morning, my three‑hour drive started before dawn at 4 AM. I left the trailhead shortly after 7 and arrived at the lake about 50 minutes later. I had to move fast; my goal was to reach the lake early, before the brilliant morning sun spilled over the canyon walls and onto the lake and falls.
Direct sunlight—especially harsh midday light—is rarely a photographer’s friend, and I was aiming for the soft, diffuse illumination that you can only catch in the quiet hours of early morning.
As a result, I spent nearly an hour alone at the lake—just me, the brilliant turquoise water, the steady, soothing sound of the falls, and a hummingbird drifting through.
It’s one of those places that makes you feel grounded, calm, and peaceful—a place where the noise of the world falls away and the landscape takes over, as if the land, for once, had decided to hold its beauty close instead of spilling it all downstream.
It was worth the wait.
Thanks for looking, and click on photos for full image. As always, images are available for purchase.
