Black Canyon, Crested Butte & Kebler Pass: Stamping, Snaggle-Teeth & Aspen Gold
We rolled up to the South Rim of Black Canyon of the Gunnison with high hopes and low expectations—because, thanks to a government shutdown, I already knew the visitor center would be closed. No rangers. No maps. No park store. And worst of all: no passport stamp. Sure enough, the big white sandwich board out front spelled it out in bureaucratic bluntness: “Closed Due to Lack of Appropriations.”
My heart sank. The little wooden passport stand outside sat empty, like a kid’s lemonade table at the end of summer. But I reminded myself: we didn’t come all this way just for ink.
So we hit the seven-mile South Rim Drive, hopping out at overlook after overlook, peering down at the “Gunny” as it gnawed through snaggle-toothed crags. Pro tip: if you’ve got a fear of heights, don’t tempt fate. There are no guardrails, and the canyon is so steep and shadowy that you can feel vertigo whispering “boo” just by glancing over the edge.
The Impenetrable Canyon
Explorer John W. Gunnison—the guy who lent his name—tried to scout a railroad route through here in the 1850s and declared the canyon “impenetrable.” Translation: nope. Even the roaring rapids back then scared off engineers. Dams went up in the 1960s for irrigation and power, but the National Park Service fought to keep the river wild, negotiating one big “spring flush” a year to mimic the canyon’s former fury. Today it was quiet, dark, glorious—ancient metamorphic rock shot through with pink pegmatite bands. One of them, “The Dragon,” curls across the cliff like a geological tattoo.
We climbed back into Bessie the van feeling a little defeated…until the kindly clerk at the Black Canyon Corner Store handed me a folded map and whispered, “The North Rim Ranger Station still has a stamp.” BOOM. Quest unlocked.
Alan grinned, “Honey, we’ll overnight in Gunnison, grab breakfast in Crested Butte, drive Kebler Pass tomorrow, and then—bam—the North Rim.”
Gunnison: Cowboy Boots & College Vibes
Gunnison is a curious mix—ranching town meets college hub meets outdoor rec launchpad. We crashed in a roadside hotel, carb-loaded, and hit the sack early.
The next morning: Crested Butte. Or as locals call it, “The Wildflower Capital of Colorado.” We pulled in around nine, frost still clinging to the valley, and snagged bagel sandwiches at Butte Bagels (delicious, hearty, and very necessary). Colorful storefronts lined the streets, each painted like a row of crayons. Meanwhile, construction cranes hovered—Alan muttered, “This place is going full-on Breckenridge in a few years.”
Kebler Pass: Woowie-Kazowie!
From town we veered toward Kebler Pass, Gunnison County Road 12—a 30-mile slice of Rocky Mountain magic that links Crested Butte to Paonia. At over 10,000 feet, the pass is famed for its gargantuan aspen groves. Scientists say it might be one of the largest living organisms on Earth—a clonal colony where all the trees share one root system. To the naked eye? Just an endless cathedral of shimmering gold and orange.
We stopped. And stopped again. And again. I think we actually did more gawking than driving. Every bend was an Instagram reel begging to happen. If the Million Dollar Highway is worth a million, Kebler is at least two million dollars of oohs and ahhs.
North Rim: Stamp Victory
By late afternoon we circled back, crossed the Blue Mesa Reservoir, and aimed for the North Rim of Black Canyon. The ranger station looked deserted, but there it was: a small wooden box. I opened it like Indiana Jones uncovering treasure and—hallelujah—the passport stamp was inside. Ink on paper, perseverance rewarded.
We capped the day at Chasm View, a short trail from the campground. Leaning over the railing, I felt the canyon swallow my breath. It wasn’t just a view, it was a full-body experience.
And then, as if on cue, two rock climbers strutted past—helmets in hand, chalk bags swinging, carabiners clinking like wind chimes. These were the real daredevils, about to dangle off thousand-foot walls of black granite. I thought about the harness still stuffed in Bessie from my Half Dome lottery dream and laughed. Nope. Not today.
Sometimes it’s enough just to look over the edge and say, woah.