CMH Bobby Burns: Take Two
My three days of hiking at CMH Bobby Burns have been everything I remembered—and then some. This was one of the first “active” vacations I ever took with the kids, and it kind of ruined me in the best possible way. It set the gold standard for what it feels like to explore a place and push yourself a little physically.
Now let’s not get carried away—I’m still sleeping in a real bed with a warm cookie and hot tea waiting for me at the lodge. I’m not climbing Everest. But this is definitely a few notches outside my normal wheelhouse.
On our first full day, we tackled the Mount Nimbus via ferrata. This was the exact climb I did back in 2011—the one I’d been itching to revisit. I thought I knew what to expect. If you want the full visual, just Google it. There are plenty of overly dramatic YouTube videos with pulsing EDM soundtracks to give you an idea of just how high you’re about to go.
What always surprises me is how many people show up here with absolutely no idea. They’re like, “So… what’s it like?” And I’m thinking, “Has no one heard of the internet?”
The guides don’t give much away. They’ll casually mention there’s “some climbing” ahead, but conveniently leave out the small detail about the giant repel at the end. Thankfully, I had my memory from 14 years ago to lean on—though this time, I was a bit more focused on convincing my body (now 14 years older) to keep moving forward without complaint.
Our guide for the day was Bernie—no-nonsense, a little scruffy, slightly on autopilot in the most reassuring way, and wildly competent. He’s been doing this for over two decades, and it shows. At one point, a fellow guest asked, “Is this real climbing, or is it cheating?” Without missing a beat, Bernie replied, “It’s ferrata-ing.”
Which felt both accurate and appropriately vague—kind of like the whole day.
Our group had about ten people, and I was—let’s say—on the more leisurely end of the pace spectrum. Bernie and Paul somehow managed to rearrange us like a well-oiled conga line. Sometimes I’d be nudged to the front so they could build in a little scenic rest time. Other times I’d drift to the back so I didn’t feel like I was holding up the more nimble mountain goats. It was all done with such grace you never felt singled out—just gently re-positioned.
They got us all the way up, over, and down the mountain with no drama—just a few adrenaline spikes and some respectfully wobbly knees.
What surprised me was how many people said afterward, “I’m so glad I did that—but I never would’ve done it if I’d known what it actually involved.” It’s a mental game with the heights, and I’m starting to understand why the guides keep things vague. Ambiguity: the unsung hero of adventure travel.
And me? I was ready to do it again.
Luckily, I got the chance the next day. Cam and I set off for the Conrad Glacier via ferrata. Back in 2011, it was still under construction, so this route was brand new to me. But like all ferrata-ing, you just move from one thrilling obstacle to the next, clinging to metal rungs like a slightly confused mountain spider.
This one might have been technically easier—less vertical exposure—but it had its own kind of magic. You’re climbing right alongside a river of glacial melt, hiking through a landscape shaped by ice and time. It’s wild and beautiful and slightly surreal—like you’ve wandered into a Patagonia catalog and nobody’s asked you to leave.
At one point, we were reminded to stay clipped into the safety wires—even when standing still—because if you trip and fall into the river, you’re not coming out. “We’re mountain rescue guides,” they said. “Not river guides.”
Well. That gives you pause.
We had a lot of the same group from the day before, so by now we’d bonded. People were cheering each other on, sharing bug spray, pretending we weren’t terrified. Our guides for the day were Eric and Paul, both cut from the same cloth as Bernie—able to read the room and somehow offer you just the experience you needed.
What I needed was a nap. My body was officially sending signals.
Around midday, we were given a choice: continue climbing to the summit, or stop at a scenic little pond for a longer break, go swimming, and then take a helicopter up to the top for a glacier view. Four folks—including Cam—chose the full climb. The rest of us (six very wise individuals) opted for the helicopter bump.
And I have no regrets.
It’s time for me to leave Bobby Burns, but I’m heading out with a few more thoughts.
I still want to do the Lodge-to-Lodge hike one day—the full seven-day version. But let the record show: if I ever do it, I will not be doing two via ferratas back-to-back again. That was too much for me after about two and a half days.
The staff and food here are wonderful. They really do a great job of making you feel tucked in and taken care of.
And maybe this is a weird detail to highlight, but one of my favorite things? They let you do laundry. A clean t-shirt and a suitcase full of fresh clothes to continue my trip with—plus a whole bunch of high-altitude memories? That’s my kind of adventure.
