Friday, November 26, 2010
RED OAK
The oak tree on the lakes edge was 90 years old! It had survived the axe of man as the North Woods disappeared when this acorn took root in 1902. The inner core showed fire scars. It could not however survive years of drought and Gypsy Moth caterpillars. What tales this sturdy sentinel could tell; loons calling through calm foggy nights; deer drinking from the lake; birds singing from it's limbs; beavers gnawing at its brethren.
The chain saw brings its dead decaying body down and shears off its limbs and cuts its trunk into 16" lengths. An axe chops each of the sections into 8 burnable logs. The carcass is then loaded into a wheelbarrow and stacked in a pile with other fallen comrades. It is sad to see such a proud and mighty living giant dismembered and carted off like that. But it lives on in my campfire; providing light and heat and inspiration. Its' smoke dances upward to mingle with the green growing canopy of the living forest. Its' ashes provide minerals and life to an acorn lying on the forest floor. I sleep, I dream, it lives.
Lake Smokey Hollow, Outing, Minnesota
The chain saw brings its dead decaying body down and shears off its limbs and cuts its trunk into 16" lengths. An axe chops each of the sections into 8 burnable logs. The carcass is then loaded into a wheelbarrow and stacked in a pile with other fallen comrades. It is sad to see such a proud and mighty living giant dismembered and carted off like that. But it lives on in my campfire; providing light and heat and inspiration. Its' smoke dances upward to mingle with the green growing canopy of the living forest. Its' ashes provide minerals and life to an acorn lying on the forest floor. I sleep, I dream, it lives.
Lake Smokey Hollow, Outing, Minnesota
Friday, September 24, 2010
Alpine Tundra
COLORADO ALPINE TUNDRA TRIP 2010
Campfire wood – check, topo maps – check, camera & GPS – check. I work off a well honed list of gear to pack that has been refined with every years trip out west. Items are consolidated into totes of like items and moved into the Mazda for the quick burst trip out to Colorado. Life events necessitated a quick spur of moment last minute launch.
Destination: Steamboat Springs in extreme north central Colorado via I-90. It is a 1,020 mile journey to Steamboat. I rolled up 550 miles and crashed at the rest stop past the Badlands. The postage stamp sized rest area is filled with diesel spewing idling semis and high intensity mercury vapor lights; neither of which precluded me from slipping into the ZZZ zone seconds after my head hit the pillow. I-90 is the preferred northern route out west. Cutting down to I-80 at Murdo is 40 miles shorter but I-80 is a rough road, hotter, and jammed with traffic, particularly semis on the Chicago to Denver route.
If you log a couple thousand miles on the I – State you’re going to run into some weird situations; weather, bugs, traffic; incidents await. My first incident was just south of Northfield when a motorcyclist decided to drive right down the center stripe to pass 10 cars queued up behind a slow moving farm implement and yet avoid being flattened by an oncoming semi. A few miles down the road I saw him explaining the logic of this maneuver to two Rice county deputies. It is a hot 87 degrees crossing SW Minnesota when the temp dropped 20 degrees to a refreshing 67 as I passed through a wildcat T-storm by Luverne. The cold hard rain cleaned the bugs off the windshield. I played the old “gas game” as the warning light came on and then the needle flat lined at “E”. No prob, pit stop at Chamberlin and then drove a few more hours to hit the crash zone at the rest stop.
JULY 9
Solid 6 hour crash. Hit Rapid, around the south edge of the Hills into Wyoming, I-25 south to Laramie, south into Colorado and over the Medicine Bow range to Steamboat. It was a great driving day; cool and cloudy with little traffic on this route. The western route across Wyoming to I-25 is quasi desolate; wheat fields, pronghorn antelope, and endless triple track coal trains being my company. I stop at the West Laramie Fly Shop; one of the great one stop, funky, has-it-all shops with a twist. Their twist being trout flies and rods, ammo, hunting equipment, camp gear, topo maps, petro, liquor and the sweet aroma of cinnamon wafting in from the attached ice cream shop. SD and Wyoming have been as lush as I’ve seen them this time of year; water in even the smallest creeks. “Snowiest winter ever in the Snowy Mtns” the clerk chimes in to my query about the winter snow pack.
I roll over the Medicine Bow range and cross the northern boundary of Colorado near the summit of the rounded mountain range. Entire mountain sides of Lodgepole pines are dead and brown from the pine bark beetles. A busted down outbuilding has a 70’s style Ma Bell telephone booth with the trademark light blue AT & T and a glass gas pump propped up alongside the slanted unpainted wooden building. The Pickers would pass on the booth but grab the gas pump. The downside of the Medicine Bows brings an abrupt change of weather; fierce winds whipping dark clouds over the peaks forming the continental divide along the Park Range, particularly the high point of Mt. Zirkel. My destination is Dumont Lake on the extreme southern end of the range. While it is on the continental divide, it is on the relatively low Rabbit Ears pass where the weather looks to be more settled. I wrangle the last camp site and the clouds dissipate as the sun sets after throwing off a rainbow. The temp drops 20 degrees rather quickly and sits at 44 degrees at midnight.
At 10,000 feet, the skies are dark and the stars plenty. Light pollution is scant in the northern Colorado Rockies. I can clearly see the split in the Milky Way. The constellation M89 lies low in the east. The distinct constellations Cepheus, Cassiopeia, the Dippers, the summer triangle of Deneb, Altair, and Vega shine like diamonds. The Boreal forest reaches tree line here; fir and spruce form a jagged rip saw horizon line. Three bright meteors flash across the sky; 2 white and 1 blue. No satellites arcing though the golden beacon planet Saturn sets as Jupiter rise;, zero moon, calm, cold, a cornucopia of celestial eye candy.
WOOD
I like burning northern Minnesota Red Oak in my camp fires; it is a high BTU, low smoke and ash kind of wood with a sweet smell. It coals out nicely and provides major heat for an hour after it coals out. Northern Minnesota Red Oak grows slowly in the short 4 ½ month growing season, thus producing tight dense growth rings. I also like to carry some maple and birch for quicker burning and basswood for a base for initial fire start up. Basswood is a very light easily split quick catching wood. It is used as the stem on wooden matches. Basswood and Cottonwood are the lowest BTU woods in the forest. A quick catching wood to quick start a fire is important in the mountains where the oxygen levels can be 40% less at 10,000 feet and where breezes may be non existent after the sun sets. The top BTU producing woods are hard maple and my blog namesake; Shagbark Hickory; a wood that grows at the extreme NW extent of its range in the extreme SE corner of Minnesota in Houston county.
My ideal campfire would consist of northern Minnesota Red Oak, with a few Birch logs for flavor, some Cedar for sweet aroma and toss in a few pieces of Pinyon Pine for the snap crackle pop factor. Hauling wood to a national forest may seem a “coals to Newcastle” endeavor but the native wood of Pine and Aspen are of the sub par bottom feeding variety in all the critical factors of BTU, smoke, ash, and coals. Perhaps the oddest wood I ever burned was Peach tree wood in Capitol Reef N.P. The Mormons grew fruit orchards along the Fremont River in pioneer days. The park service continued to maintain these orchards and had trimmed some of the Peach trees. While I didn’t see a sign, “help yourself” was a given, implied consent if you will. Peach wood is very hard and stringy, difficult to split and burn, but it does have a sweet aroma.
When you run out of wood you have to scavenge for wood. The toughest was in Organ Pipe N.M. We arrived at night and couldn’t collect dead cactus, palmetto, and yucca leaves fast enough to keep a fire burning (not to mention that we weren’t tuned into the fact that night is when the diamondback rattlers like to motor around). It was as tough as keeping a fire going in Kipp State Park by Winona Minnesota with dead sumac. If you wanted to start a smoky signal fire, sumac would be the ticket. Too woody of a wood is not good.
The most productive scavenge was in Mt. Ranier N.P. The park draws a lot of weekenders from Seattle. Come Sunday afternoon a sudden deluge of rain fell. The locals quickly packed and hit the bail button leaving sacks of wood behind. The local wood vendors preferred packing wood in Willamette Valley mesh onion bags. The campground was littered with onion sacks full of wood. After the rain we collected all we could, split and stacked it. We had a wall of wood at the ready.
JULY 10
Awake to frost. Last nights oak coals in the fire pit launch a chill chasing inferno in short order. A stroll around the lake as the sun rises reveals two deer standing on a ridge overlooking the fog lifting off an adjacent wetland. Mid July is the apex of the wildflower bloom in the high country. Meadows are ablaze in a palette of color; blue Lupine, red Indian Paintbrush, pale blue and purple Columbines, white wild Onion, yellow Sunflower, violet Larkspur. White Throated Sparrows come in close and sing, Jays squawk, and Ruby Throated hummingbirds dart among the mini meadows of blooms. The lake fronts the volcanic plugs of the Rabbit Ears.
I pack and roll in quick order to cruise down the other side of the Park Range and the 20 miles to Steamboat Springs. As I roll down the mountain, 2,000 feet above the valley, I am greeted by dozens of multi colored hot air balloons rising from the valley. One is shaped like a trapezoid. My first stop in Steamboat is an old favorite, “Off the Beaten Path”; a funky new age bookstore/coffee shop/bakery/micro café. It is another of the great one stop shops with wilderness books, topo maps, cards, new age books, journals, newspapers, calendars, great blueberry scones and cherry cream cheese croissants. While it does carry some tarot cards and palm reading books, it is too legit and without the crystals to qualify as a New Age shop where one can pick up a crystal to dial in high energy vortexes.
I grab a bag of goodies and chow down along the Yampa River that flows adjacent to a massive baseball/rodeo/Olympic ski jump complex. There is a big festival in town and dozens of volleyball courts are in play. Laze the morning away before grabbing a dynamite calzone at Cugzinos before heading into the mountains and Strawberry Hot Springs. GPS fix: I am at 7,550 feet and 40° 33’ 60” north latitude; 3 1/3rd degrees south of Minneapolis. This is latitude with attitude.
A 7 mile drive out of Steamboat snakes up the mountains to the hot springs. I land the last lodging; they have tent sites along the creek, covered wagons, simple to multi-story log cabins and a train caboose. The springs come right out of the side of the mountain and is mixed with cool snow melt water from the river to an optimum temp of about 102° to 104°. The water is ponded up in 3 large limestone walled pools that cascade down onto each other. There is a massive 15 foot high stone fireplace, aroma therapy/massage pools; all enveloped in Zen landscaping. Impurities pour out of your body in the low sulpher springs while tranquility seeps in. At night the air chills and the stars provide a viewing canvas. After some errant lightning slides north of me, a stunning starry sky emerges. It is a unique place where you can steam and chill simultaneously.
MORNING in the MOUNTAINS
Morning comes in 2 phases; early & late, yin & yang, waxing & waning. Early morning light leaking onto the landscape brings a tranquil contemplative mindset. Colors are muted, the atmosphere calm and moist; sharpening the earthy smells that emanate. The earth quietly spins on its’ axis, birds and animals go about their business.
The demarcation between early and late morning is sublime; a movable imprecise timeline; a passing noted after the fact. It is an event brought to consciousness by the peeling off a long sleeve shirt, a bright sun past 35 degrees of declination, sunglasses, staccato bursts of warm wind blowing through the dying embers of the morning fire, a background soundscape muddied increasingly by humans and their machines, the appearance of patches low key stratus clouds scraping across a powder blue sky and a time piece that reads 10:15.
Early morning is a creative time to nourish the soul and to drink in the nectar of the earth.
JULY 11
The day breaks cool and sunny. I head for an exit soak, make an omelet and coffee; chased down with a blueberry scone. Head back to Steamboat and reload on critical supplies, check my I-net at the library, and grab and go some bakery treats at Off the Beaten Path. The EZ living is in the rearview; time to head to the Wilderness and high alpine landscapes of the Flat Top Mountains. The Flat Top mountains are due south of Steamboat. They were formed by massive flows of lava and ash that piled up several miles high. The surrounding softer rock was eroded away leaving flat topped volcanic plateaus topping 12,000 feet. The lower elevations are perfect for aspen forests and massive herds of Rocky Mountain Elk; the largest elk herd in the world.
I stop at the Forest Office in Yampa for the latest weather, hiking, and animal intel. I make the requisite stop at McGregor’s general store. This is a store that has a little of everything and would fit perfectly into the post depression era. Various animal heads are mounted around the ceiling of the store. Narrow wooden aisles separate high racks jammed tightly with clothes, boots, camp gear, movies, sewing supplies, cards, canned goods, dry goods, and this and that. They still use a hand crank calculator to ring up the bill.
I push the 16 miles up the valley cut by a river flowing heavy with snow pack melted off the high country. Ranches irrigate hay to feed their sheep and cows. It is green and verdant, the air perfumed with the sweet smell of freshly cut hay. Three lakes are dammed up, the 3rd near tree line being the largest. Cold Springs at 10,275’ is my destination. There is one other person camping, a trout fisherman. My camp is right out of heaven.
I am set up in a flower studded meadow fronting a large pond filled with trout. The pond is filled by twin waterfalls that cascade off a 40 foot lava cliff surrounded by white wildflowers. Across the valley rises the 12,560’ sentinel of the Wilderness namesake Flattop Mountain. The elongated mountain has large snow fields hanging off it’s western flank. The sides are chiseled volcanic cliffs with talus fields at their base. This is one of the highest drive-in camp sites in the US. I do recall a 4th of July one year when snow banks still dotted the landscape and the temp dropping to 19 degrees at night. The trails were impassable with several feet of snow.
I gather up a couple loads of Lodgepole pine to supplant the massive fire on tap for the night. Each night has been getting warmer and would be a warm 55° at midnight. The broken cloud cover evaporates, wind dies, mosquitoes go, fire burns hot. Saturn glides behind the mountain. I see 8 meteors; a couple short light ones and a couple long bright red/orange trails. The incredible sound of waves of water cascading down the rocky waterfall mixed with bursts of wind blowing through the firs wash through the still night air.
WIND
Wind mostly is unseen but not unheard; trees give voice to the wind. Sitting high up on a mountain ridge you can hear and see gusts of wind moving across the tops of the pine forest. You can follow the sound by watching the tree tops bend; like seeing cloud shadows dance across the immense landscape. Wind sings a different song through different trees: There are 4 major wind/tree interface sounds; the frequency getting higher with shorter and thinner needles. 1. The low frequency whoosh of the wind through large needled trees such as Ponderosa Pines. 2. Medium frequency howling through medium needled spruce and fir. 3. The high pitch of the wind blowing through thin and short Pinyon Pines 4. Ultra high frequency whistle of the wind blowing through the 2” to 3” needles of a Saguaro cactus.
JULY 12
Morning breaks in the upper 30’s though the sun is hot. I kick up a coffee fire, chow and prep for my hike up to Little Causeway Lake. Long contemplative walks through the forest wears out the sole of your Danner hikers but nourishes the inner soul. The forest breaks and suddenly large mountainscapes appear at tree line. I sit on a high ridge of avalanche lava rocks above the lake. I am sitting under a 600’ chiseled lava cliff in “the bowl” of lakes and peaks with 360° panoramic views. Blue sky gives way to cumulo stratus rolling over the plateau. The sun cooks a strong pine scent out of the Lodgepole forest below me. The wind goes calm to quick ramp up to a full breeze. I hike back, pack, and roll to Yampa, heading for Rocky Mountain National Park. I make the requisite stop at the Toponas store; the store that is the town and the town that is the store. It is a general “has everything” type of store just off state hwy 131. I visit with the down home proprietor every year that I pass through. “How was the snow pack this winter” I ask. “Well”, he replies, “It was up to the 3rd barbed wire on a 4 wire fence.” The Flattops typically get a deep snow pack; the high plateaus scrape off any moisture moving up and over them. The front of the worn down wooden sided store is littered with chairs, planters, rims, picnic table, bricks, with an old Ma Bell telephone booth, circa 1970’s.
I roll past the Toponas volcanic plug, the core of a volcano which resisted erosion as the softer rock around it eroded away. Being on the dry eastern slope of the Flattops, the land is mostly sage brush on open range. Pines begin to appear as I climb higher to Gore Pass, then down the other side to the logging town of Kremmling. I twist down Brown Canyon and the rounded chocolate brown cliffs that line the canyon. The Amtrak train rolls under the overpass bridge I cross. Soon I am driving along the 30 mile long reservoir of blue Lake Granby and Shadow Lake reservoir into the do nothing town of Grand Lake; the western gateway town to Rocky Mountain N.P. Entire mountains of Lodgepole pines rising above the lakes are dead and brown – the pine beetle at work. I grab a motel and charge batteries for all the electronics and catch the all star game.
SILENCE
Total pure silence is near impossible to attain. It is like chasing the holy grail of deep dark skies; light pollution has washed out our pristine views of the heavens. The best locations for both are the BWCAW in northern Minnesota, the high canyon desert of SE Utah and the Great Basin desert of Nevada. I have experienced silence once; in Canyonlands N.P. Island in the Sky plateau.
Campfire wood – check, topo maps – check, camera & GPS – check. I work off a well honed list of gear to pack that has been refined with every years trip out west. Items are consolidated into totes of like items and moved into the Mazda for the quick burst trip out to Colorado. Life events necessitated a quick spur of moment last minute launch.
Destination: Steamboat Springs in extreme north central Colorado via I-90. It is a 1,020 mile journey to Steamboat. I rolled up 550 miles and crashed at the rest stop past the Badlands. The postage stamp sized rest area is filled with diesel spewing idling semis and high intensity mercury vapor lights; neither of which precluded me from slipping into the ZZZ zone seconds after my head hit the pillow. I-90 is the preferred northern route out west. Cutting down to I-80 at Murdo is 40 miles shorter but I-80 is a rough road, hotter, and jammed with traffic, particularly semis on the Chicago to Denver route.
If you log a couple thousand miles on the I – State you’re going to run into some weird situations; weather, bugs, traffic; incidents await. My first incident was just south of Northfield when a motorcyclist decided to drive right down the center stripe to pass 10 cars queued up behind a slow moving farm implement and yet avoid being flattened by an oncoming semi. A few miles down the road I saw him explaining the logic of this maneuver to two Rice county deputies. It is a hot 87 degrees crossing SW Minnesota when the temp dropped 20 degrees to a refreshing 67 as I passed through a wildcat T-storm by Luverne. The cold hard rain cleaned the bugs off the windshield. I played the old “gas game” as the warning light came on and then the needle flat lined at “E”. No prob, pit stop at Chamberlin and then drove a few more hours to hit the crash zone at the rest stop.
JULY 9
Solid 6 hour crash. Hit Rapid, around the south edge of the Hills into Wyoming, I-25 south to Laramie, south into Colorado and over the Medicine Bow range to Steamboat. It was a great driving day; cool and cloudy with little traffic on this route. The western route across Wyoming to I-25 is quasi desolate; wheat fields, pronghorn antelope, and endless triple track coal trains being my company. I stop at the West Laramie Fly Shop; one of the great one stop, funky, has-it-all shops with a twist. Their twist being trout flies and rods, ammo, hunting equipment, camp gear, topo maps, petro, liquor and the sweet aroma of cinnamon wafting in from the attached ice cream shop. SD and Wyoming have been as lush as I’ve seen them this time of year; water in even the smallest creeks. “Snowiest winter ever in the Snowy Mtns” the clerk chimes in to my query about the winter snow pack.
I roll over the Medicine Bow range and cross the northern boundary of Colorado near the summit of the rounded mountain range. Entire mountain sides of Lodgepole pines are dead and brown from the pine bark beetles. A busted down outbuilding has a 70’s style Ma Bell telephone booth with the trademark light blue AT & T and a glass gas pump propped up alongside the slanted unpainted wooden building. The Pickers would pass on the booth but grab the gas pump. The downside of the Medicine Bows brings an abrupt change of weather; fierce winds whipping dark clouds over the peaks forming the continental divide along the Park Range, particularly the high point of Mt. Zirkel. My destination is Dumont Lake on the extreme southern end of the range. While it is on the continental divide, it is on the relatively low Rabbit Ears pass where the weather looks to be more settled. I wrangle the last camp site and the clouds dissipate as the sun sets after throwing off a rainbow. The temp drops 20 degrees rather quickly and sits at 44 degrees at midnight.
At 10,000 feet, the skies are dark and the stars plenty. Light pollution is scant in the northern Colorado Rockies. I can clearly see the split in the Milky Way. The constellation M89 lies low in the east. The distinct constellations Cepheus, Cassiopeia, the Dippers, the summer triangle of Deneb, Altair, and Vega shine like diamonds. The Boreal forest reaches tree line here; fir and spruce form a jagged rip saw horizon line. Three bright meteors flash across the sky; 2 white and 1 blue. No satellites arcing though the golden beacon planet Saturn sets as Jupiter rise;, zero moon, calm, cold, a cornucopia of celestial eye candy.
WOOD
I like burning northern Minnesota Red Oak in my camp fires; it is a high BTU, low smoke and ash kind of wood with a sweet smell. It coals out nicely and provides major heat for an hour after it coals out. Northern Minnesota Red Oak grows slowly in the short 4 ½ month growing season, thus producing tight dense growth rings. I also like to carry some maple and birch for quicker burning and basswood for a base for initial fire start up. Basswood is a very light easily split quick catching wood. It is used as the stem on wooden matches. Basswood and Cottonwood are the lowest BTU woods in the forest. A quick catching wood to quick start a fire is important in the mountains where the oxygen levels can be 40% less at 10,000 feet and where breezes may be non existent after the sun sets. The top BTU producing woods are hard maple and my blog namesake; Shagbark Hickory; a wood that grows at the extreme NW extent of its range in the extreme SE corner of Minnesota in Houston county.
My ideal campfire would consist of northern Minnesota Red Oak, with a few Birch logs for flavor, some Cedar for sweet aroma and toss in a few pieces of Pinyon Pine for the snap crackle pop factor. Hauling wood to a national forest may seem a “coals to Newcastle” endeavor but the native wood of Pine and Aspen are of the sub par bottom feeding variety in all the critical factors of BTU, smoke, ash, and coals. Perhaps the oddest wood I ever burned was Peach tree wood in Capitol Reef N.P. The Mormons grew fruit orchards along the Fremont River in pioneer days. The park service continued to maintain these orchards and had trimmed some of the Peach trees. While I didn’t see a sign, “help yourself” was a given, implied consent if you will. Peach wood is very hard and stringy, difficult to split and burn, but it does have a sweet aroma.
When you run out of wood you have to scavenge for wood. The toughest was in Organ Pipe N.M. We arrived at night and couldn’t collect dead cactus, palmetto, and yucca leaves fast enough to keep a fire burning (not to mention that we weren’t tuned into the fact that night is when the diamondback rattlers like to motor around). It was as tough as keeping a fire going in Kipp State Park by Winona Minnesota with dead sumac. If you wanted to start a smoky signal fire, sumac would be the ticket. Too woody of a wood is not good.
The most productive scavenge was in Mt. Ranier N.P. The park draws a lot of weekenders from Seattle. Come Sunday afternoon a sudden deluge of rain fell. The locals quickly packed and hit the bail button leaving sacks of wood behind. The local wood vendors preferred packing wood in Willamette Valley mesh onion bags. The campground was littered with onion sacks full of wood. After the rain we collected all we could, split and stacked it. We had a wall of wood at the ready.
JULY 10
Awake to frost. Last nights oak coals in the fire pit launch a chill chasing inferno in short order. A stroll around the lake as the sun rises reveals two deer standing on a ridge overlooking the fog lifting off an adjacent wetland. Mid July is the apex of the wildflower bloom in the high country. Meadows are ablaze in a palette of color; blue Lupine, red Indian Paintbrush, pale blue and purple Columbines, white wild Onion, yellow Sunflower, violet Larkspur. White Throated Sparrows come in close and sing, Jays squawk, and Ruby Throated hummingbirds dart among the mini meadows of blooms. The lake fronts the volcanic plugs of the Rabbit Ears.
I pack and roll in quick order to cruise down the other side of the Park Range and the 20 miles to Steamboat Springs. As I roll down the mountain, 2,000 feet above the valley, I am greeted by dozens of multi colored hot air balloons rising from the valley. One is shaped like a trapezoid. My first stop in Steamboat is an old favorite, “Off the Beaten Path”; a funky new age bookstore/coffee shop/bakery/micro café. It is another of the great one stop shops with wilderness books, topo maps, cards, new age books, journals, newspapers, calendars, great blueberry scones and cherry cream cheese croissants. While it does carry some tarot cards and palm reading books, it is too legit and without the crystals to qualify as a New Age shop where one can pick up a crystal to dial in high energy vortexes.
I grab a bag of goodies and chow down along the Yampa River that flows adjacent to a massive baseball/rodeo/Olympic ski jump complex. There is a big festival in town and dozens of volleyball courts are in play. Laze the morning away before grabbing a dynamite calzone at Cugzinos before heading into the mountains and Strawberry Hot Springs. GPS fix: I am at 7,550 feet and 40° 33’ 60” north latitude; 3 1/3rd degrees south of Minneapolis. This is latitude with attitude.
A 7 mile drive out of Steamboat snakes up the mountains to the hot springs. I land the last lodging; they have tent sites along the creek, covered wagons, simple to multi-story log cabins and a train caboose. The springs come right out of the side of the mountain and is mixed with cool snow melt water from the river to an optimum temp of about 102° to 104°. The water is ponded up in 3 large limestone walled pools that cascade down onto each other. There is a massive 15 foot high stone fireplace, aroma therapy/massage pools; all enveloped in Zen landscaping. Impurities pour out of your body in the low sulpher springs while tranquility seeps in. At night the air chills and the stars provide a viewing canvas. After some errant lightning slides north of me, a stunning starry sky emerges. It is a unique place where you can steam and chill simultaneously.
MORNING in the MOUNTAINS
Morning comes in 2 phases; early & late, yin & yang, waxing & waning. Early morning light leaking onto the landscape brings a tranquil contemplative mindset. Colors are muted, the atmosphere calm and moist; sharpening the earthy smells that emanate. The earth quietly spins on its’ axis, birds and animals go about their business.
The demarcation between early and late morning is sublime; a movable imprecise timeline; a passing noted after the fact. It is an event brought to consciousness by the peeling off a long sleeve shirt, a bright sun past 35 degrees of declination, sunglasses, staccato bursts of warm wind blowing through the dying embers of the morning fire, a background soundscape muddied increasingly by humans and their machines, the appearance of patches low key stratus clouds scraping across a powder blue sky and a time piece that reads 10:15.
Early morning is a creative time to nourish the soul and to drink in the nectar of the earth.
JULY 11
The day breaks cool and sunny. I head for an exit soak, make an omelet and coffee; chased down with a blueberry scone. Head back to Steamboat and reload on critical supplies, check my I-net at the library, and grab and go some bakery treats at Off the Beaten Path. The EZ living is in the rearview; time to head to the Wilderness and high alpine landscapes of the Flat Top Mountains. The Flat Top mountains are due south of Steamboat. They were formed by massive flows of lava and ash that piled up several miles high. The surrounding softer rock was eroded away leaving flat topped volcanic plateaus topping 12,000 feet. The lower elevations are perfect for aspen forests and massive herds of Rocky Mountain Elk; the largest elk herd in the world.
I stop at the Forest Office in Yampa for the latest weather, hiking, and animal intel. I make the requisite stop at McGregor’s general store. This is a store that has a little of everything and would fit perfectly into the post depression era. Various animal heads are mounted around the ceiling of the store. Narrow wooden aisles separate high racks jammed tightly with clothes, boots, camp gear, movies, sewing supplies, cards, canned goods, dry goods, and this and that. They still use a hand crank calculator to ring up the bill.
I push the 16 miles up the valley cut by a river flowing heavy with snow pack melted off the high country. Ranches irrigate hay to feed their sheep and cows. It is green and verdant, the air perfumed with the sweet smell of freshly cut hay. Three lakes are dammed up, the 3rd near tree line being the largest. Cold Springs at 10,275’ is my destination. There is one other person camping, a trout fisherman. My camp is right out of heaven.
I am set up in a flower studded meadow fronting a large pond filled with trout. The pond is filled by twin waterfalls that cascade off a 40 foot lava cliff surrounded by white wildflowers. Across the valley rises the 12,560’ sentinel of the Wilderness namesake Flattop Mountain. The elongated mountain has large snow fields hanging off it’s western flank. The sides are chiseled volcanic cliffs with talus fields at their base. This is one of the highest drive-in camp sites in the US. I do recall a 4th of July one year when snow banks still dotted the landscape and the temp dropping to 19 degrees at night. The trails were impassable with several feet of snow.
I gather up a couple loads of Lodgepole pine to supplant the massive fire on tap for the night. Each night has been getting warmer and would be a warm 55° at midnight. The broken cloud cover evaporates, wind dies, mosquitoes go, fire burns hot. Saturn glides behind the mountain. I see 8 meteors; a couple short light ones and a couple long bright red/orange trails. The incredible sound of waves of water cascading down the rocky waterfall mixed with bursts of wind blowing through the firs wash through the still night air.
WIND
Wind mostly is unseen but not unheard; trees give voice to the wind. Sitting high up on a mountain ridge you can hear and see gusts of wind moving across the tops of the pine forest. You can follow the sound by watching the tree tops bend; like seeing cloud shadows dance across the immense landscape. Wind sings a different song through different trees: There are 4 major wind/tree interface sounds; the frequency getting higher with shorter and thinner needles. 1. The low frequency whoosh of the wind through large needled trees such as Ponderosa Pines. 2. Medium frequency howling through medium needled spruce and fir. 3. The high pitch of the wind blowing through thin and short Pinyon Pines 4. Ultra high frequency whistle of the wind blowing through the 2” to 3” needles of a Saguaro cactus.
JULY 12
Morning breaks in the upper 30’s though the sun is hot. I kick up a coffee fire, chow and prep for my hike up to Little Causeway Lake. Long contemplative walks through the forest wears out the sole of your Danner hikers but nourishes the inner soul. The forest breaks and suddenly large mountainscapes appear at tree line. I sit on a high ridge of avalanche lava rocks above the lake. I am sitting under a 600’ chiseled lava cliff in “the bowl” of lakes and peaks with 360° panoramic views. Blue sky gives way to cumulo stratus rolling over the plateau. The sun cooks a strong pine scent out of the Lodgepole forest below me. The wind goes calm to quick ramp up to a full breeze. I hike back, pack, and roll to Yampa, heading for Rocky Mountain National Park. I make the requisite stop at the Toponas store; the store that is the town and the town that is the store. It is a general “has everything” type of store just off state hwy 131. I visit with the down home proprietor every year that I pass through. “How was the snow pack this winter” I ask. “Well”, he replies, “It was up to the 3rd barbed wire on a 4 wire fence.” The Flattops typically get a deep snow pack; the high plateaus scrape off any moisture moving up and over them. The front of the worn down wooden sided store is littered with chairs, planters, rims, picnic table, bricks, with an old Ma Bell telephone booth, circa 1970’s.
I roll past the Toponas volcanic plug, the core of a volcano which resisted erosion as the softer rock around it eroded away. Being on the dry eastern slope of the Flattops, the land is mostly sage brush on open range. Pines begin to appear as I climb higher to Gore Pass, then down the other side to the logging town of Kremmling. I twist down Brown Canyon and the rounded chocolate brown cliffs that line the canyon. The Amtrak train rolls under the overpass bridge I cross. Soon I am driving along the 30 mile long reservoir of blue Lake Granby and Shadow Lake reservoir into the do nothing town of Grand Lake; the western gateway town to Rocky Mountain N.P. Entire mountains of Lodgepole pines rising above the lakes are dead and brown – the pine beetle at work. I grab a motel and charge batteries for all the electronics and catch the all star game.
SILENCE
Total pure silence is near impossible to attain. It is like chasing the holy grail of deep dark skies; light pollution has washed out our pristine views of the heavens. The best locations for both are the BWCAW in northern Minnesota, the high canyon desert of SE Utah and the Great Basin desert of Nevada. I have experienced silence once; in Canyonlands N.P. Island in the Sky plateau.
I awoke at 4:00 a.m. to crank up a fire and do some astro photogrpahy under the deep dark Utah desert skies. The crescent moon sat sideways low in the western sky, its' light about to be crushed out by the horizon. I set up my camera gear and set up the fire when I heard something, what I heard was nothing; no wind, no water, no birds, no insects, no planes, no distant rumblings of cars or mans machines, no human sounds, nothing - it was a complete and total eclipse of sound. It was perfect for this sculpured landscape that looks like you just stepped out on the planet shortly after its' creation.
JULY 13 - 14
Rise and roll, grab a USA Today and cinnamon treats at the bakery and head up the western terminus of the 45 mile Trail Ridge Road. It is the highest continuously paved road in the U.S. and heads up and over the continental divide down to Estes Park on the Eastern end. Much of the road is above tree line affording long expansive views. Poudre Lake sits on the continental divide and is the starting point of a short hike to “The Crater”. It is the rearing ground for Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep.
The trail is closed until mid August when the new born sheep get their sea legs; cliff legs actually. The apex of the road parallels the La Poudre river valley climbing above 12,000 feet and affords spectacular views of the nearby snow clad and aptly named Never Summer range, views of the southern end of the Snowy Mountains that run into Wyoming, the Mummy Range, and the massive peaks forming the continental divide with the deep Forest Canyon cutting a massive chasm into the earth, parallel to the divide.
Near tropical force winds blow up and over the lip of Forest Canyon making the 60° temp quite brisk. Clouds and sun play the “I’m King” “You’re King” game. I make a short hike onto the tundra to get closer to a grouping of a dozen elk lazing in the meadows with a bull pacing nearby. The tundra is scattered with huge piles of scattered boulders, some with windows in them affording a peek to the snowy peaks of the continental divide. Some look like an alternate version of Stonehenge.
I cruise down the mountains to RMNP – Rocky Mountain National Park, Moraine campground. RMNP has over 600 sites in 4 campgrounds, all full. As I’m visiting with the contact station ranger, a couple checks out 2 days early. I take the 2 remaining days on their reservation. All the pines were cut down at the Timber Creek campground due to standing dead trees due to the pine bark beetle. I roll to the Gateway town of Estes Park for supplies, I-net check at the library, shower, pass by the Stanley Hotel – location for “The Shining”, grab some grub, and stop at “The Donut Haus” for the best donut anywhere, the fried maple pecan. A cool 20 minute rain shower rolls over the divide – nice.
I stop at the VC (Visitor Center) on the way back to check the “Incident Log”, a daily compilation of incidents in the park. These incidents can range from traffic violations to backcountry SAR (Search and Rescue) incidents. They provide interesting reading and a reminder that people do die in the parks. The most recent week showed a SAR rescue of 2 hikers off the parks signature peak, Longs Peak. Longs is the northernmost 14,000’ peak in the Rocky Mountain chain. Even in early July the hiking route called the Narrows, which tops off on top of the 14, 259’ peak, is choked with snow and ice making it a technical climb requiring ice axes and crampons at a minimum. A young pair of hikers didn’t think so and got stranded near the top necessitating a helicopter rescue by the SAR folks.
I witnessed a dozen SAR rescues one day from the North rim of the Grand Canyon. Record summer heat had seeped into the area catching the unprepared with dehydration, heat exhaustion, and heat stroke. While a warm low 80’s° melancholy wind blew through the pines on the north rim at 8,000 feet; hiking a vertical mile down to the canyon bottom will bring temps well over 110° . Be prepared and knowledgeable of the area you are in, the topography, weather, flora, fauna, and your limitations. Your life may depend on it. Sometimes it’s best to sit on the sidelines and take in the day. The SAR chopper landing pad wasn’t too far from the campground so you could see and hear it come and go all afternoon.
The NPS also logged a couple bears in the campground. I asked a ranger “Have you seen any mountain lions in the park.” “There was one a few weeks ago around the entrance to the campground” he replied. “How many bears and lions are in the park” I queried. The ranger unhesitantly stated, “about 25 of each.” I was surprised at how low the estimate was; Rocky Mountain NP has 72 peaks above 12,000’ and fully 1/3rd of the 400 square mile park terrain is above tree line, which is at sea level in the Arctic but a stout 11, 400’ here . Trees will not grow in a location in which the average temperature of the warmest month is below 50°.
The Incident Log at RMNP also showed that a couple days ago a small plane crashed near the head of Forest Canyon. It took a day and a half for a SAR team to reach the rugged site. They were surprised to find 2 survivors, a father and his daughter from Wisconsin. Apparently the planes’ wings clipped enough pine trees to slow it down and nothing hit the fuselage.
Clouds were pretty full in the sky as evening descended but gradually decreased to clear skies as night crept in. A huge oak fire burned until 3:00 a.m. and I saw 11 meteors; a
couple bright ones, one white another red-orange. It is calm, low 50°’s, crescent moon setting behind the mountains. A coyote pack calls as the coals die.
INCIDENT LOGS
Each park in the NPS (National Park Service) keeps a daily log of incidents in the park. These can vary widely from DWI’s and speeding to the high drama of search and rescue efforts to save a life or recover a body. I was first introduced to these logs in the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Monument in S.W. Colorado. This is a stunningly deep narrow canyon carved out of granite and pre Cambrian schist by the Gunnison River over thousands of years. It is the deepest narrowest canyon in North America. While it is 2,722 feet deep, the canyon narrows at one point where you can throw a rock to the other side. It was discovered by Abraham Lincoln Fellows, perhaps a forbearer.
I set up camp on the rim of the canyon and proceeded to “rim rock” around the lip of the back side of the side canyon; no trails, no people. A bright orange speck 2/3rds of the way down the canyon caught my eye. I figured it was backcountry hikers setting up a tent. How odd to use such a bright tent I thought, and an odd place to pitch it, and being 5:00 a bit early to set up camp. I binoculared the site and saw it wasn’t a tent but a car. I looked to be a late 50’s early 60’s model judging from the rear tail lights that came off either side of the trunk as huge fins. The aircraft carrier sized hood was a giveaway. The car was in good shape and the paint still good; perhaps not so unusual as this is in the desert.
I hiked back and went to the VC (Visitor Center) and asked a ranger “What is that car doing down in canyon?” “Oh, you spotted that did you, you got good eyes,” the Ranger replied. He bent over and pulled a well worn small leather journal out from under the counter. It was larger than a journal but smaller than a book, perhaps a half inch thick. He spun it around on the counter over to me. “ Take a look at the entry from Thanksgiving day 1958,” he said flatly with no hint of the drama that lay inside. I took a worn bench in the periphery of the center aside all the hub and bub and chatter. Soon I was absorbed in a tragic and amazing Thanksgiving tale. Not a tale so much as a dissertation of facts, it was a law enforcement recounting after all.
There is a large overlook near the road coming in to the VC. It sits right on the canyons edge with a near vertical view straight down the 2,700 foot chasm. Thanksgiving day of 1958 a young man drove his bright orange Chevy down the entrance road to the VC and then floored it, left the road, and headed for the overlook and launched full speed out over the canyon. Indications are this was a suicide attempt brought on by depression and alcohol. The car landed 2/3 rds of the way down the canyon in a steep avalanche slope of boulders. Upon impact he was thrown through the windshield and another 300 feet down the landslide slope. Amazingly the man lived, he got up and started walking back up the canyon and died shortly after passing by his car.
There were other incidents that brought the adventure of a lifetime to the end of a life. One entry detailed the hypothermia death of a base jumper. Base jumping off the north rim is popular. This fellow caught his chute on a overhanging rock halfway down the canyon. Rescue is no small feat, nor is it quick. Being at 8,000 feet the temperature drops precipitously at night and the jumper died of hypothermia before the SAR team could rescue him.
The Gunnison River through the canyon is also popular for whitewater rafting. With spring snow melt, class IV and V rapids push through the narrow steep gorge. Several rafters capsized and the cold waters brought on hypothermia and a slow quiet death. Climbers have had their incidents as well, many pitches rated over 5.1, not for the inexperienced. Mountains don’t care, canyons don’t care; they don’t know you and death is a misstep or misfortune away.
JULY 15
A crisp sunny day breaks at camp among the Ponderosa pines. Technically, at 8,000’ I am in the Montane zone which reaches up to 9,000’. This zone is distinguished by stands of Ponderosas interspersed with large open meadows, streams, aspens, and wetlands. The north facing slopes harbor Lodgepole pines and Douglas Fir. This is the “life” zone, home to grazing elk, deer, coyotes, Aberts squirrels, bears, lions, bluebirds, red tailed hawks. The glaciers plowed expansive flatlands in the lower reaches of the mountains. It is also a good elevation to acclimate.
I roll 13 miles up Trail Ridge road for a wildcat tundra hike, the beta:
Alpine Tundra wildcat hike: elevation: 11,450 feet
temperature: 60°
wind: 50 m.p.h. gusts
sky: crystal clear blue
hike mileage: 4 miles off trail
elevation gain: minimal, 300’
A large high pressure system has parked itself over northern Colorado which will suppress afternoon cloud formation and the resulting T-storms as warmed air rises up over the divide and condenses into rain hauling nimbo stratus or heavy duty full blown cumulo nimbus rain makers. I strike out on the Ute trail, a well worn path blazed by the Ute Indians as a path from the tundra to the valley below; more recently by Elk and hikers.
I cut off the trail on a wildcat heading to the edge of where the tundra falls off into the 4,000 foot deep Forest Valley. The continental divide rises across the huge gash in the earth. The park service is very touchy about walking across the tundra. Plants grow very slowly and recover slowly in the short growing season and harsh conditions. I carefully and quickly step across the infinite rocks and gravel patches packed tightly among the tundra grasses and flowers. I wonder if the elk and other animals take such care. There are patches of cryptogrammic soil, more common in the Utah high desert.
The treeless tundra allows for large views. I can see the snow clad Never Summer mountains to the north, the Mummy range to the east, and the Continental Divide straight ahead. At this elevation UV (ultraviolet) radiation is about 40% more intense than at sea level; and oxygen levels also are dimmed by 40%. The UV burn time can be as short as 5 minutes at the apex of summer. The sun and wind are the perfect storm for a burn. I walk at a steady gate hop scotching across the tundra on rocks.
I reach the edge of the tundra, it falls at a quick gradient down 500 feet to tree line and another 3,500 feet to the floor of Forest Canyon. Rising on the other side is the massive hulk of 12,922 foot Stones Peak. It is stunning display of size and beauty. The top is sawed off and angled towards the canyon. The top is green tundra the size of a neighborhood. Adjacent to it is the more peaked 12,718 foot Mt. Terra Tomah. The glaciers have sliced a verdant canyon between the two. The Lodgepole pines of Forest Canyon creep up the canyon between the mountains, dotted with snowfields up high, blue alpine lakes, rock spires, landslides of talus, huge waterfalls, with the serrated rocks of a ridge connecting the two mountains like a curtain risen for a performance. Snowfield melt water gathers in tarns or lakes in the cirque excavated by glaciers. The water plows a trough down through the avalanche slope of rocks, cascading off a 60 foot ledge before meandering though thick green spruce to the river.
The landscape is so colorful and beautiful, the scale so massive, the environment of hot sun and cold wind so extreme that your senses can’t make sense of it. It’s as if you are out on your front porch sipping a cool lemonade when a mountain is plopped down in front of you. You have no reference point, the scale is out of index. I stand in wonderment and amazement and awe at the beauty and grandeur of nature. It is a transformative experience for me; emotionally and to be sure a spiritual awakening. This is nature’s version of shock and awe. There is no reason to hem and haw; time to move up the sloping ridgeline of the canyons edge.
EDGES
Edges are where nature pulls up the curtain on dramatic interaction of different habitats. It is where forest meets meadow, ocean intersects the edge of the continent, lake meets shore, canyon and cliff, sky and land. It is where animals take cover in the tree line to ambush unwary prey; where massive waves crash onto the land, where water creatures safely live just out of reach of inquisitive prey, where eagles soar at eye level and weather comes to you.
To get a full appreciation of the tundra you have to get down on your hands and knees or better yet on your belly and get at eye level with the manicured miniature rock gardens that is the tundra. The growing season is short, the climate harsh; everything is small and grows low to the ground. Five inch bright yellow sunflowers burst from the pea green to brown to rust colored lichens and mosses and stubby grasses between patches of rocks; mostly granite and schist. A rainbow of color fills the landscape; white and pink Daisies, violet and blue Columbine, blue Larkspur, and Alpine Avens. These plants are small but may put down a 6 foot long tap root to ferret out moisture and often have waxy hairy leaves to minimize moisture loss and trap heat.
Piles of boulders stack up on stepped ledges like random miniature Stonehenge’s. Rocks vary in size from that of a basketball to an RV. They provide a respite from the 40 to 50 mph winds howling up and over the canyon edge. A White Throated Sparrow chirps away in the grasses while a bee and Admiral Butterfly bounce from bloom to bloom. The Never Summer range pops into view over the head of Forest Canyon. I hike up the leeward side of a boulder pile on a ridge to a magnificent view of the Mummy Range, the headwaters of the Big Thompson river, a glacial alluvial fan dropping off the Mummy’s, and the demarcation line separating trees from tundra flowing unevenly across the mountains. I find a hiding place in a meadow behind a boulder pile, in the hot sun, out of the cold wind. The sky is powder blue with a thin line of off white stratus clouds floating just above the mountains. The upside down crescent moon rises above the eastern mountains. A Yellow Bellied Marmot chirps and sounds it’s warning whistle from the top of a nearby pile of granite boulders. Marmots cannot survive when the temperature reaches 80° a growing concern with global warming melting away glaciers at a rapid pace, snowfalls coming later in the Autumn and ending earlier in the Spring. All of the glaciers in Glacier National Park are now predicted to be melted away to nothing by 2020.
With a close inspection of the tundra one can appreciate the subtle beauty but not understand the delicate balance of the ecosystem. Ptarmigan are grouse like birds that live in the tundra. They change their plumage from all white in winter to speckled coloring that matches the lichen covered rocks in summer. I have stood 6 feet from a chirping mama and her hens and not seen her for minutes. I retreat back across the ridge, across the tundra, and down the Ute trail. A day like today is the reason I am, it is the essence of my life; to transverse the dramatic landscapes of the planet and experience the beauty and grandeur of nature.
Evening flows into night; an approximate 40 minute transformation to the eye and mind though scientifically the transformation known as astronomical twilight is a long subtle 100 minute journey. A deer grazes in the waning light. The crescent moon and golden Saturn set through the Ponderosas. Man lives on a 24 hour cycle. I like marking time by observing the passing arcs of the sun and moon. My last night in the mountains is a warm night, 72 degrees at 11:00. The fire sings and dances, flames arcing, pine popping. I watch the stars spin through the night sky, etching a circular pattern around the north star. A long drink of the mountains settles into my soul and my mind, my spirit is buoyed, life is good in the mountains.
JULY 16
Road warrior time, it is get and go time. I’m slow to get going, got to soak in the Ponderosa pines and divide. I roll at 11:00 for a straight shot and land home at 16 ½ hrs later at 3:30 in the a.m. The long 20 mile drive down the narrow Big Thompson gorge to Loveland brings you down slowly to civilization. The winery outside of Loveland is no more; I was hoping to score some of their cherry wine. I entrance the I-25 speedway to Cheyenne and back the route I came.
It is 101° on the east side of the Black Hills. Lightning to the south at sunset. I think I hear hail hitting the vehicle but the air is thick with huge moths as I cross the St. James River. The I-90 return-to-the-world blues. Such a juxtaposition to be in the mountains in the morning and back to the city at night.
I have been to Rocky Mountain N.P. 35 times or so. Every experience is different; the weather and landscape changes with the time of year and the type of year. Each time I go in as a different person with changed perspectives and life experiences. The same view varies at different times of the day and year. Light paints the landscape revealing the baseline textures, line, shape, and color that are the basis of nature and great photography and all art. I’ll be back next year to walk the “Crater” trail up into the tundra in search of Rocky Mountain Bighorns. The land will be different, I’ll be different, another cairn on the trail of life.
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