Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Friday, January 04, 2013
Colorado Expedition 2012 - Telluride Trip
C O L O R A D O Expedition 2012 Journalog
The Telluride Trip
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| The Hickory Hiker |
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| Mt. Delores |
They say animals don't worry
They’re living on nuts & berries
They say
they don’t need money
They’re
making a fool of us
They
ought to be more careful
They’re
setting a bad example
. . .
TALKING HEADS
Day 1 – 2: Park Range, North Central Colorado: 55°
& 92°, 56° & 99°
Thump, thump, thump; the sound of tires rolling
over tar strips on I90. The night has
enveloped a timeless journey across South Dakota to the mountains of
Colorado. Time and distance are
demarcated by the passing of telephone poles and county lines. Thump, thump, thump; can you hear it; it is
the sound of freedom.
As night presses in, the wind farms north of
Worthington look like a fleet of War of the Worlds Martians has landed. The silhouetted 250 foot towers have 2 red
lights at the base and a blinking red light on top. The morning light brings more I90 action and
cyclists swarming out of Sturgis like locusts.
The temp hits 99 degrees on I25 north of Cheyenne. After the requisite pit stop at the “Laramie
Fly Shop”, I head up and over the Medicine Bows and into Colorado. The Medicines are scarred by spot fires and
entire mountainsides of pine were bare and dead from the pine beetle (warmer
winters allow the larvae to survive under the bark and wreak havoc come spring).
16 hours and 1025 miles later I arrive on the
continental divide at sunset in the Park Range near Steamboat Springs. I camp near the Rabbit Ears; 300’ twin towers
of volcanic rock. Off and on rain is
spitting and a crystal clear radio signal from KSTP 1500 in Mpls pipes through
the Twins game. After midnight the sky
clears and chills. Here at 9,500 feet
the sky is so dark that I mistook the Milky Way as a cloud. A few meteors from the Perseid Meteor shower
streak across the sky.
Day 3: 47° & 86°
Arise predawn to a bright Jupiter hanging low in
the East below the crescent Moon. Low
scudding clouds roll in and drop some rain.
I roll down to Steamboat for a latte at “Off the Beaten Path”. I dodge light rain watching a bike race at
the rodeo grounds. This is a perfect
time to head up into the mountains to the hot springs pools.
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| Strawberry Hot Springs |
Strawberry Springs is a mecca of relaxation;
multiple pools that cascade into one another from the hot spring pouring out of
the mountainside. Colorado had a minimal
winter snow pack so the creek is not flowing.
Cold snow melt creek water is mixed with hot spring water to bring it to
an optimum soaking temperature. The
pools are 105°, a tad on the toasty side. The Yampa River is flowing at 78 c.f.s.,
half normal. I motor back up to the divide and hike around Dumont Lake, a
reservoir, and empty.
A Ruby Throated Hummingbird flies into my vehicle,
hovers a bit and buzzes my face before taking off. A big wind blows in, whipping and whooshing
the large Firs and Spruces and dropping bursts of rain. It clears in late evening; I believe a high
pressure ridge has pushed a warm front through from the SW. The air calms and chills to the mid 50’s as
the sun sets behind distant ridges in multiple shades of blaze orange.
Patches of dark clouds shoot across a starry sky
like water bugs skimming across the surface of a pond. The sky in extreme north central Colorado is
very dark. In dark skies like these, a
person can see close to the theoretical limit of 5,000 stars with the naked eye
(all in our Galaxy natch). The Milky Way
is so bright I once again am fooled into initially thinking it is a cloud. The break in the Milky Way is clearly visible
in its arc from the SE to the NW.
Tonight is the apex of the Perseid Meteor Shower; remnant debris from
Halley’s Comet which last passed through our solar system on its 75 year orbit
in 1986.
I ramp up an oak fire at 9:00 to chase the chill
while watching the sky for meteors until 3:00 a.m. I see 45 meteors, the 4th best
count ever for me. Most of them are
small, quick, white flashes. There were
a couple big long white 3 second meteor trails as the air out front of the sand
to marble sized specks ionizes the nitrogen
and oxygen as they burn up in the
atmosphere speeding along at 96,000 m.p.h. (meteors originating from asteroids
travel at a slower 24,000 m.p.h.).
Initially,
meteors come from a low angle in the N.E., then from Cassiopeia, the “W” in the
Milky Way band, then slide to the S.W.
As night pushes closer to predawn; the meteors streak straight down the
S.W. horizon.
The Big
Dipper lies low in the North, then on its side; then slips under the horizon. There are 2 primary sources of light from a
streaking meteor; the color of the meteor material as it burns and the super-heating or ionization of atmospheric nitrogen and oxygen molecules.
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| 40 minute Time Lapse of Stars |
Oak coals may reach a max of 1,500° F. The adiabatic, or theoretical, max flame temperature of a wood fire is 3,590° F. The actual temp is much lower depending upon the type of wood, moisture content, radiation of heat and heat rising into the air. Iron glows at 1,000° F. I've had some massive burns but have never seen the fire ring glow orange; but not for lack of trying.
Day 4: Glenwood Canyon Resort 35° & 95°
Wake to crisp blue skies. I start a fire off the still hot oak coals in
the pit. It’s roll day, I head over Muddy Pass, passing from a dense
Fir and Spruce forest on the pass to dry brown semi desert of grasses, yuccas,
rabbit brush, and tumbleweeds. This land
is open range; it has acres to the cow, not the cows to the acre scenario I’m
used to in the rain soaked plains.
I pit stop in Topognas, the town that is a general
store and the store that is the town. I
greet the proprietor and inquire about the winter snow pack, as I do every year
when I pit stop here. He tells me,
“ We've only had 5” of rain this year.”
“How was the snow pack” I inquire.
“It was minimal; it didn't hit the first barbed wire.” I recall him telling me a few years back that
the snow cover had reached the 3rd barbed wire on the fence across
route 131.
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| The Topognas Store |
This is a general store that serves the scattered
ranch community for miles around. The
old wooden floors creak with every step.
The aisles are narrow and stocked high with an A to Z sundry of goods
from carmex, postcards, rope, sewing thread, canned goods, maps, several
upright freezers, boots, tourist T shirts, mugs, and knick knacks, my favored
Nut Goodie from St. Paul, and a dirty coffee station with thick hot free
coffee. The goods are haphazardly
stacked in a dusty clutter bordering on a hoarding disorder. Outside, the store has a working AT & T
blue phone booth, a wooden picnic table with a half dozen plastic chairs, two
old toilets used as planters, a Dr. Pepper pop machine, a plastic Coors sign, a
dry ice machine, and a couple gas pumps, petro being over $4 a gal in this
remote location.
I hit I70 and Glenwood Springs; lay in right on the
Colorado River. It was just above
freezing this morning in the mountains and now baking in the mid 90’s. I steep in the cold snow melt water of the
river like a tea bag bopping in a cup. The
Colorado makes a snake turn through the canyon here, filling the landscape with
the sound of water churning through boulders and boiling rapids. A 900 foot sheer cliff rises from the river
opposite me. The orange sunset is muted
by cloud cover which washes out any chance of seeing meteors.
Day 5: 57°
& 65°
Awake and an all-day rain starts 5 minutes later. A stationary front has parked itself just SW
of me, pushing continuous bands of rain over Glenwood. The steady medium to heavy rain is welcomed
by the locals, “This is the first decent rain we've had all summer”, one of the
Zip Line instructors tells me as we sit under the canopy of an outside
bar. The Colorado is as low as I've seen
it in my decade of staying here. Xcel
has a hydro dam just upstream and releases water to keep the whitewater rafting
season in full swing.
It’s prime time to head to town to reload on
supplies, do chores, and shop. Glenwood
offers affordable digs for those who work in Aspen. I stock up on 4 newspapers, coffee, and a few
baked treats. Back at the ranch, the
resort has Wi-Fi so the internet surf is up.
There were two 20 minute lulls in the rain. I had wood set up in the pit under a tarp
which I fired up to provide a nice warm up. A grilled cheese sandwich and soup
warmed me inside.
Rafts and trains roll all day long. The rail across the Colorado River is wedged
in between the river and the cliffs.
When I-70 was built through here in the mid ‘80’s, portions of the
freeway were suspended on concrete stilts in shelves blasted out of the
cliff. A mile or two per year got
finished through this very narrow canyon.
The clackety clack rails were replaced by CWR
(continuous welded rail) or ribbon rail since I was last here. The sharp turns and steep grade through this
portion of the canyon makes for a high decibel all enveloping screech and
scrape of steel on steel. I've woken at
night thinking I was inside a football sized metal warehouse that was collapsing
on me; kind of cool. The rain stops about sunset time at 8:00. A fire and popcorn is in order as I see a
handful of leftover meteors streaking over the canyon.
Day 6: Black
Canyon of the Gunnison 55° & 91°
Morning breaks clear as I fry up a ham, egg, &
cheese sandwich in butter on the fire.
It’s likely a coincidence that 5 minutes later a large black bear ambled
out of the White River National Forest across the river from me. The bruin paced back and forth between the
railroad tracks. It then walked up and
down the river bank. The bear had
muscular shoulders and hindquarters with paws that would cover a CD case. It had a very short stubby tail. Bears can smell food from 5 miles and this
guy looked like he wanted to cross the river with food in mind.
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| This guy is barely moving |
He walked into the swift flowing river 30 yards
downstream from a bend with rapids. He
quickly swam in a line across the river, just his head above the water. He climbed up the boat ramp and quickly ran
up the steep hillside covered in Gambel Oak.
In late August bears are carbing up for the hibernation ahead. Food is scarce due to summer drought and a
late frost that killed much of the berry crop. Conclusion: best to not fry a sandwich in butter when I get
to the Wilderness area; and that is the bare facts my friend.
Before hitting the I-State heading west I hit the
Zip Lines. The 300 foot 20 M.P.H. zip
across the Colorado is exhilarating.
Jumping off the 6 story tower is a bit unnerving the first few seconds
of free-fall until the harness catches your weight. I pack and roll to the wineries and peach
orchards in Palisade.
Colorado peaches are the gold standard, like tart
Michigan cherries, Vidalia onions, and Muscatine melons. The orchards front the Colorado River with the
1,000 foot angularly eroded/sculpted grey Mancos Shale of the Book Cliffs
providing a Jurassic backdrop. The warm
sunny days and cool nights at 5,000 feet are primo for vino; many wineries have
sprung up here. Nearby Grand Junction is
sunny 71% of the time (the sunniest city in the U.S. is Yuma, AZ with 90% of
available sunshine).
A few tastings are in order; I load up on a few
Pinot Noir, Chardonnays, and Zinfandel's.
A visit to Rocky Mountain Meadery is a must. Mead is a honey based wine and is how it was
made from the dawn of time (no sugar supplies).
Peach wine is a very tasty and a natural blend with a honey base. I also like the blackberry and cherry.
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| Grapes in Palisade |
A nearby fruit stand is busy as mid-August is the
apex of the peach harvest. The old
wooden rambler sized building is divided into 2 operations. A retail section is stocked with the bounty
of the season, peaches, grapes, melons, berries, jams, and pies. The other half is busy with tractors pulling
wagons stacked with crates of peaches.
Young male workers unload, sort, and clean the fruit and package it into
the familiar wooden crates found in the local grocery store.
I purchase a load of peaches and a bag of pinto
beans grown from a stock of ancient Anasazi seeds found in a cave. The beans are an irregular pattern of white
and purple. I also purchase a jar of
yucca sweetener; healthier, I don’t know; honey, sugar, cane, fructose, lactose;
it’s all sugar baby, C6H12O6 chemically speaking, the body metabolizes each
differently.
I bite into the prototypical baseball sized
Colorado peach. The flavors are deep and rich, an all-encompassing sensory
overload, a bit like describing a wine.
“Was it dry here this year” I ask the lady/owner behind the counter. She looks to be about 60, tall and lanky,
wearing a long peach colored dress with a light blue apron embossed with white
geese tied around her middle. She wears
her hair long; it is light brown with streaks of gray. Her white complexion shows she spends most of
her time in the shed and indoors.
She tells me “We normally get about 10” of precip a
year and we've had less than half that so far.
The dryness tends to intensify the flavors in fruits.” I reply, “I’ve never seen a peach that
large.” pointing to a softball sized peach displayed on the counter like an
autographed baseball. “We’ll be
harvesting that variety in another week or so” she says. Peaches and peach wine, rafting, zip lining,
hot springs, calzone & scones; the easy life of the tourist is done. It’s
time to head to the wilderness, strap on the pack, & log some miles.
It has been 20 years since I’ve headed south of
Grand Junction on U.S. Hwy 50, now a 4 lane divided highway. Grand Mesa, the largest flat topped mesa in
the world, rises to the east. To my west
is the colorful Colorado Plateau; at its extreme N.E. corner here. The old ranch towns of Delta and Montrose
have packed in retirees and the accompanying development and retail operations. The sun is setting and I am uneasy about the
condition of the “unimproved” Forest road heading to the top of the Uncompahgre
Plateau. I pull in to the Forest Office in Montrose.
The office is closed so I peruse the maps and
signage out front. A Ranger skirts out
the back door making a bee line for her car.
I run over to her and ask “How is that forest road to the top of the
Uncompahgre.” “It’s not too washboardy”
she replies. “It’s OK for a highway
vehicle; it’s about an hour up there.”
You have to understand that local Coloradans have a different scale of
road condition than us Minnesotans. I
decide I don’t feel like dealing with dust and a potholed wash boarded road for
an hour and set up camp in the waning light.
Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park is only
20 minutes away. On the turnoff to the
park there is a home converted into a tourist stop. I notice piles of campfire wood. The owner is outside carrying a galvanized
metal water container; buzzing around the property and stopping to water plants
like a hummingbird hovering over a flower.
“Do you have any cedar” I ask.
“No, I've got some pinyon and cottonwood.” she says flatly. Cottonwood, get real, I’d just as soon burn
rolled up newspapers. For you BTU hounds, a cord of Cottonwood contains 12.2
million BTU vs. White Oak with 26.5 million.
Yes I realize I spew out a cornucopia of factoids and am the master of
minutia. Time is short; I thank her
& buzz off.
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| Gambel Oak lit up by Campfire |
Two spotted yearlings walk on a rusty brown road
cut as the sun sets. The desert
landscape is brown; the soil dusty. The
metallic blue green leaves of sage twist in the breeze. A pygmy forest of Gambel Oak covers the mesa
top. Smoke from western wildfires fills
the canyon in a haze but makes for a colorful sunset. I ramp up a fire to light up nearby Gambel
Oaks as the stars spin up. A couple
remnant meteors streak across the deep dark sky.
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| Black Canyon of the Gunnison |
Day 7: Lizard Head Wilderness 41° & 86°
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| Marble Cliff |
Cool morning
breaks as I explore an 8 mile section of the canyon rim that tops out at 8,300
feet. The Black Canyon is a half mile deep
narrow canyon cut through hard volcanic gneiss and basalt by the Gunnison
River. The black rock is chiseled and very
angular. The Gunnison River drops more
in this 48 mile stretch through the park than the Mississippi does in its
entire length. This erosional power cuts
a sheer jaw dropping gash into the Earth.
Pinyon and Juniper creep up the canyon walls with stately Douglas Fir on
the rims. The Marble cliff drops 2,300 feet from the North rim; the largest
cliff in Colorado. Canyon Wrens and
Swifts dart and swoop along the rim as Ravens float on canyon thermals. Squirrels are busy gathering abundant Gambel
Oak acorns. 
I stop at the
VC to visit with the Superintendent of the park, a job I could see myself
in. A Ranger out front has a telescope
pointed towards the sun. “Want to take a
look” he asks. “I’d love to” I say,
“I’ve only seen images of the sun taken by SOHO.” The red orange disc has several black sun
spots on it.
I roll the
final 100 miles to Telluride and my base camp in Sunshine Campground at the
southern edge of the Uncompahgre National Forest. The camp host Aggie (money collector/wood
disburser) chats me up. She is a Puerto
Rican from Brooklyn with some time logged in the Peace Corps. She tells me
“Smoke from the Idaho and California wildfires has settled into the mountain
valleys.” With my inquiry about
Telluride she tells me “that they run a free Gondola from the top of the ski
runs to town.”
I am just
outside the Wilderness with a heads on view of the colorful San Miguel range
fronted by the San Miguel River.
Sunshine Mtn rises behind the river.
I prep my gear for a hike into the Wilderness as the sun sets, the air
chills, the fire warms, and a few meteors streak across the dark sky.
Day 8: 41° & 77°
The LIZARD
HEAD Hike: I pack my gear in the dark
and cool of pre-dawn, fill the water bottles, and grab some chow and head for
the trail head. The last 2 miles of the forest service road is a single lane
twisting up to the top of Sunshine Mesa.
This alleged road is wash boarded and full of muddy holes the size of
refrigerators. I should have tied a pail
to the bumper to toss all the parts in that fell of the vehicle; a tank may
have been a more appropriate vehicle. I
reach the trail head at sunrise anxious to climb above tree line. The hike beta:
start elevation: 9,600’
end elevation: 11,570’
miles: 11.7
I strike out
across the mesa thick with Aspen, Spruce and Fir. Sunlight ebbs in, chasing the darkness from
the forest. I am heading up Bilk creek;
climbing above tree line to the snowfields in the heart of the San Miguel Range
that source the creek. The meadow is
full of asters and sunflowers; the palette of late summer. The cascading creek provides a soothing
soundtrack to the rhythmic cadence of boot over boot. This hike is a journey of over 25,000 steps.
I cross over
the base of a 200 foot talus slope, jagged bowling ball sized chunks of granite
lying at unstable haphazard angles. At
the end of this traverse I cross the creek over an 8’ tall logjam of tree
trunks and branches wedged between the banks from springs raging snow melt They are wet, slippery, and set at all angles
and levels like giant pick up stix. I’m
happy to cross this obstacle and quit looking at my feet. I traverse a long
gentle climb up through tall Spruce and Fir trees which enclose my view. Old rusted gold mining equipment and a still
standing wooden shack perch on the bank of the creek. I burst out of the forest into a meadow at
the base of an 80 foot waterfall. The
sky is powder blue, the air calm, the background a soundtrack of tumbling water
and chirping birds.
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| Mt. Wilson |
The trail now
climbs long steep switchbacks. The San Miguel’s
are unusual in that they are an east/west running range (like the Uinta Mountains
in N. Utah). The volcanic San Juan’s are
extremely rugged; reminding me of the glut straining oxygen deprivation hikes
in the Cascades. The trail climbs over
an avalanche slope into stands of thinning stunted ground hugging Sub-alpine Fir
and Englemann Spruce; a transition zone to the coveted alpine tundra. I get a
great view of Sunshine Mtn. walling in 1 side of the valley and Wilson Peak on
the other with a handful of San Juan fourteeners on the horizon. I peel off my pack and sit on a downed tree
trunk taking in the long view down the valley I climbed. A round hand sized brown mushroom with white
dots stands above the grasses like an umbrella.
I hike a
steep granite ridge cut by a fast flowing creek into the head of ‘the bowl’. The bowl is an alpine cirque; the head wall that massive glaciers from the ice age chiseled out of the mountains creating
sawtooth peaks and plowed out the broad U shaped valley I hiked up. The Bilk Basin is circled in 13k to 14k peaks
with cold creeks running off massive snowfields below their peaks.
I wildcat it
across the basin through willow thickets and braided channels of melt water,
the headwaters of Bilk Creek. I ascend a
high ridge affording a panoramic 360 degree view of Mt. Wilson which has a band
of red rock running through it, its’ black pyramidal 14,000’ peak poking into the sky. The broad curved swoop of Gladstone Peak
fills the nearscape with Cross Mtn poking above that and the Lizard Head rock
tower rising to the East.
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| Tree line view of Mt. Wilson |
I sit on a large
pitted volcanic boulder and soak in the sunshine and watch time click ahead in
the form of the sun moving down in its’ daily arc. I am surrounded in colorful peaks of
lavender, white, yellow, maroon, and black. It was a 5 hour hike up but only 2 hours
down. It’s always refreshing to see the vehicle at the end of a long day
hike. I hit the jackpot at another
National Forest camp; they have wood, water, and showers. In what probably makes sense only to the
National Forest think tank; they supply campfire wood to all of the south &
western Colorado N.F. campgrounds from a site in Lakeside Arizona. Maybe they didn't notice that N.F.
campgrounds are in vast forests; better to source local. : \
I lay in at
base camp which lies at 9,580’ at the foot of 12,930’ Sunshine Pk fronted by the
San Miguel River. Sunshine is the
Eastern bookend of the San Miguel range which stretches 30 miles to the
west. I ask the camp host if she knows
where I can get some cedar, she laughs “Cedar is like gold”. Up here it’s all pine, aspen, and pinyon,
which grows thick at 5,000’. Two deer
graze as the sun drops low in the sky.
There are 2 spotted fawns with them.
One of the fawns runs around the meadow wildly, kicking its’ rear legs
up high into the air like a bronco at a rodeo, never seen that.
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| Sunset on Middle Pk |
The sun is a
big red orange disc that drops just to the side of a volcano, I believe it is 13,261’
Middle Pk. The wildfire smoke scatters
the light, bathing the San Miguel’s in a red/orange glow. An owl lets out a soft short hoot as darkness
falls. As the sunlight fades I fire up
my own source or red/orange light. One
huge white meteor streaks straight down to the horizon at due north.
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| Morning light on Sunshine Mtn. Day 9: 41° & 76° |
Morning
quickly warms to 51 degrees, but a fire is in order to make coffee and chow. I fill my REI coffee cup and walk atop a 20
foot ridge that runs across the back of my camp. I take a seat on a large flat boulder and
warm in the sun while watching the San Miguel’s light up in the warm light of
sunrise. A line of vertical cliffs drop
off San Bernardo & Sunshine Mountains to the river. An unbroken pine forest stretches west to the
Utah border.
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| 500 Year Old Ponderosa Pine |
A lone
Ponderosa Pine grows from the top of this grassy ridge. It is massive, a circumference of 16’ with a
big lightning gash 2/3rds of the way up the trunk down to the ground. A group of 4 Indian elders walk the ridge,. “That’s a big Ponderosa” the lady says. I tell her “the circumference is 16 feet; the
back side gets very wide”. “16 feet!”
she echoes back both in astonishment and in a quizzical tone. “Yes” I say matter of factly; I measured it
with my outstretched arms.” The human
wingspan is roughly equal to your height.
“That has to be 300 to 500 years old” she states.
They are from
S.W. New Mexico. The nearby Gila
National Forest recently burned, to the tune of a half million acres. She adds “They are now replanting it by
dropping seeds and mulch by helicopter.” Today is my
trip into civilization and Telluride. I
head a few miles down road to the fantasy ‘village’ called Mountain View,
essentially a man-made oasis of high end shops and 4 star restaurants for the 2
per centers. All brick walkways, new
stone shops, and immaculately manicured grassy areas with planters and flower
beds. Some artists and musicians are
setting up for the afternoon. A middle
aged woman dressed to the nines emerges from a hotel in heels but must watch
her every step on the uneven bumpy brick walkway. It looks nice but a mistaken application of
form over function.
 |
| Mountain Village |
The Gondola
goes up mountain to a ski run and then descends the valley to Telluride. A middle aged Texan from Laredo is riding
down with me. “A lot of people from
Texas summer up here to escape the Texas heat” he tells me. He means rich Texans of course. The Telluride of today is not so different
from 20 years ago other than being inundated with regular tourists, the fat
cats, and those young hipsters, artists, and musicians living the rocky mountain
way.
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| 1880 Courthouse in Telluride |
The Farmers
Market is setting up. It is a mix of
food, art, wine, and healing arts from palm reading to message. The red brick 1881 courthouse is the
centerpiece of town. I stop in a
painter’s home/studio and visit awhile.
It is a small wooden house from the early 1900’s painted in the
requisite pastels with funky flowers and plants circling the small yard. “I like sky and water and bright warm colors;
dancing the line between the real and the spiritual” she tells me. “I have a studio in Taos and here because I
ski all winter.” Every artist has an
inner vision that speaks to them.
I gondola
back to the village and grab a few brick fired slices and a Fat Tire, brewed in
Ft. Collins. I chase that down with a
latte while enjoying the sun and people watching on a patio. I wi fi my Google Nexus 7 tablet to check the
communications and weather. This tablet
rocks, built by Asus with the Tetrus 3 quad core processor, 1 Gb memory,
Android 4.1 O.S. – ice cream sandwich,
Bluetooth, voice recognition, and it speaks, it rocks, the tablet wars are on.
I roll back
to camp to prep for tomorrows hike into the heart of the Wilderness. Clouds build and a couple short bursts of
medium rain fall. Two girls about 8
years old and their Mom carry brown paper bags as they eye the ditch. “What are you looking for” I ask the little
girl out front. She reaches into the
grasses and picks something and throws it in the bag. “Black mushrooms” she says, “we sell
them”. Probably to one of those mushroom
vendors I saw down at the Farmers Market.
A Garter Snake crawls off a gravel foot path as the Ophir Needles
formation light up in a clearing sky. I
get a big burn going under a widening canopy of stars, the owl purrs.
Day 10: 39° & 75°
The NAVAJO
LAKE Hike:
I awake at 4 a.m.
to yelping coyotes. Shortly after I proceed
through the pre hike ritual of consuming carbs, loading the pack, and filling
the water bottles with ice cold water from the 5 gallon supply I leave out
overnight. You can never be sure how far
off the grid you may land so being fully stocked on the 4 necessities is a
must: wood, water, ice, petro.
 |
| LIZARD HEAD |
I drive over
Lizard Head pass at dawn as the temp drops to 39°. The
Lizard Head was used as the logo for the Rio Grande NW railroad. Everything is wet from a recently departed
wild card cloud burst. I roll 8 miles
down a decent gravel forest road to the trailhead.
hike
metrics:
start elevation: 9,280’
end elevation: 11,222’
miles: 10.2’
average MPH up: 1.9
average MPH down: 3.0
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| The volcano MT. DELORES |
The meadows
are wet with recent rain. The temp is in
the low 40’s. The rising sun will not
clear the high ridgeline for an hour or so.
I hike along the West Delores River for the first couple miles. I hit a
large meadow with yellow daisies and aspens. A carpet of blue spruce pocketed with open meadows undulates for
miles to a full frontal view of the dormant volcano Mt. Delores. Medium blue skies set off the magenta colored
striations that run through the volcano.
When I hit a waterfall on the river the hike angles up through forest
with large meadows higher up.
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| Navajo Lake Canyon |
The last 3
switchbacks are long and steep; reminiscent of climbing the redwall on the
Bright Angel trail out of the Grand Canyon (20% grade the last 3 miles to the
rim). I drop my pack at the high point
among the waning spruce trees of tree line adjacent to massive 500 foot talus
slopes of hand sized flat slabs of rocks. Navajo Lake sits at the head of a long several
mile canyon with the maroon, white, and black peaks of El Diente on one side
and an unnamed 12,800 ridge line on the other.
The black pyramidal top of 14,246’ Mt. Wilson pokes above the end of the
canyon. It is still carrying snow up
top. Huge avalanche slopes of broken
rock fall off both canyon walls.
Navajo Lake
empties off a ledge in a series of falls and cascades. The blue skies are overtaken by building
darkening cumulus clouds. I run into a
gal from Lake Tahoe on my hike back down.
She’s middle aged, slender, muscular and tanned; obvious that she spends
a lot time outdoors. “Pretty steep
switchbacks at the end eh” I quip. “I do
a lot of hiking in the Sierra’s so I’m used to it” she says. Doesn't hurt to have no backpack and carry
only water I think. I’ve got to shed
some of these electronics I haul around, better idea - Sherpa.
 |
| El Diente' |
The hike down
offers reverse views not seen on the way up.
El Diente Peak borders the valley showing its angularity; talus slopes
chiseled from a line of black volcanic cliffs infused with red/orange oxidized
iron set against a robin egg blue sky dotted with white cumulus with a base of
deep green Fir trees. It is a
kaleidoscope of primary colors. Miles
down the valley; I catch a side on view of El Diente. Its surreal colors look like it had risen
from the core and punched through the mantle.
 |
El Diente |
My legs are
feeling it back at the trailhead. The
San Juan’s are so steep that there are not many lakes in the cirques. Though there are some primo areas, the Blue
Lakes, the Ice Basin, and Navajo Lake.
The ideal time would be mid to late July when the ample wildflower bloom
is full on. I grab a shower and wood at
the N.F. camp named Matterhorn.
I roll into
the outlaw town of Rico. This is a small
old gold mining town of a couple hundred hardy souls. Sitting at 8,600’ you have to be
self-sufficient with the mega winter snow pack that blows in. Many of the old buildings have steep metal
roofs to shed the snow. I pop into one
of the saloons. The wooden plank floor
is well worn with engraved aluminum panel ceilings. A pool table takes up much of one corner of
the floor with an old couch near the huge window out front. I grab a Coors and wait for what I am told is
a dyno burger and fries.
A pre-trip I-net
search on Rico showed that some guy in town kept bees and sold bees wax candles
and honey. “Is that bee guy around here”
I ask the portly middle aged gal tending bar.
Her 2 kids, about 8 and 10, come rushing into the bar to tell her they
are going off to play with a friend. Her
eyes follow the kids out the squeaky bare wood screen door as she responds,
“No, that guy blew town earlier this summer.
He came out from Massachusetts; think he was having trouble making it”.
As I roll out
of town, a fire truck is sitting in the middle of Main Street conducting a
drill of some kind. A couple choppers
pull up in front of the bar. A banner
stretching across the road acknowledges the bike race coming through town in a
couple days. An old house fronting the
highway has aspen stacked up along the fence across the length of the front
yard. It takes a lot of wood to keep
warm through a 6 month winter; especially Aspen, you might as well toss
catalogs in the wood stove.
I take a poke
up the short box canyon at Ophir, a gold mining hot spot a century ago. In 1891 Ophir was one of the earliest AC
electrical generating sites in the world.
Nikola Tesla’s AC technology (financially backed by George Westinghouse)
beat out Edison’s DC design to win a bid to provide electricity to the gold
mine. The small generating plant was on
the San Miguel River, 5 miles from the gold mine. The railroads built wooden tussles that looped
back on themselves to maintain a 7% grade in order to climb Lizard Head pass.
 |
| Ophir Needles |
The Ophir
Spires light up at sunset as the sun ducks behind clouds and touches Mt.
Delores and spreads its red rays out over the smoky sky. It’s fire & stars time; 4 meteors streak
across the sky. One huge white meteor
runs perpendicular to the SE horizon.
Day 11: SPRING CREEK, Gunnison N.F. 41° & 88°
I enjoy the sweet nectar from a couple of peaches
by the fire as the sun rises. It is time
to pack the gear and head east. The
Colorado Pro Cycle Race will be coming past camp tomorrow and Hwy 145 will be
closed. It will be Monday so the various
road construction projects and attendant delays will be in full force as well.
I enjoy sitting on the flat volcanic boulder by the huge Ponderosa Pine
watching the San Miguel’s light up top to bottom in the sun. The top of the Ophir Needles catch the
sun. The needles are a jagged line of
basaltic columns atop a high ridgeline.
A nearby ridge of aspen was eaten bare by tent caterpillars mirroring
the angular architectural elements of the Needles.
I chat up a couple retired schoolteachers from
Grand Junction. “Do you want some
peaches” I ask. “I got them in Palisade,
I won’t be able to eat all these; I wouldn't want them to go to waste.” The ladies were sitting in green and white
webbed lawn chairs bundled in layers of sweat shirts and blankets by a fire to
chase the crisp 44 degree air. They had
a couple small medium quality dome tents set up; not the high end Eureka’s I
prefer but they obviously were camping veterans.
They had one of the few primo spots that offered
clear views of the San Miguel range to the west. “Sure, we’ll take them” one of the ladies
offered up, “can’t turn down a Palisade peach. It was dry this summer so the
peaches are little smaller than usual, but they say that intensifies the
flavor.” “How do you like living in
Junction” I queried. “We love it” her
voice rising an octave indicative of her true contentment, “ you've got the
mountains and the desert at your doorstep; it’s warm but not humid.” With that I bid them farewell for a 170 mile
drive over to Gunnison, Sunny Gunny.
I stop in
Ridgway for slices, petro, and ice. They
only have ‘Picasso’ ice (cubes), not the block ice I prefer. I load up on The Denver Post, Rocky Mtn
Gazette, USA Today, and the local rag to catch up on the news situations. The paper is saying the bike race is
following me over to Crested Butte and Gunnison; have to keep a heads up on
road closures. I’ve got to log some
miles but take a soak at Orvis Hot Springs.
I get an hour for $10 and a view of the San Juan Mountains across miles
of irrigated hay fields, fence rows, and pastures. I roll past the huge and nearly drained reservoir
north of town and backtrack through Montrose and head east on U.S. Hwy 50.
It is a 100 miles across dry sage land to
Gunnison. I stop in Cimarron, another
store that is a town and the only town in the 100 mile stretch of road between
Montrose and Gunnison. Cimarron sits at
the head of the untamed Gunnison River as it begins its descent into Black
Canyon National Monument. Upstream, the
river is dammed, creating Curecanti reservoir; a National Rec Area and the
largest body of water in Colorado.
A narrow gauge railroad bridge spanned the Gunnison
canyon giving rise to the town of Cimarron (so named because the hills looked
like those around Cimarron, New Mexico).
Helper trains were needed to push the trains over the Cerro Summit grade. A depot, water tank, and roundhouse were
built with the accompanying bunkhouse, ice house, vegetable cellar, saloons,
restaurant, and hotel. They hauled minerals
mined from the San Juan’s. Cimarron
later became a major livestock shipping hub.
Extensive corrals were built as local ranchers moved their cattle to
market in Kansas City or winter ranges near Grand Junction or in Utah.
The store is a mash up of the 1930’s era general
store. The proprietor is also the post
master; the P.O. building sits in a gravel lot adjacent to the store. “How many people live around here” I ask. I half expect the answer to be one but he
tells me “It fluctuates, but it’s about 150 right now.” I check the local business cards and postings
on a board near the front wall. It gives
a good barometer of the people and what is important to the area. I see a hand scribbled note for firewood for
sale, a couple saddles for sale, carpenter for hire, a logging trailer for sale
and so on.
I exit the old wooden building with my pop and ice
cream with the sun burning down and the temp pushing 90. A couple in their early 20’s sits motionless
on a wooden bench off to the side of the door under an overhang. They both lean forward with their arms folded
between their knees, neon colored energy drink in their hand and their road
bikes leaned against the large wooden posts holding up the overhang.
“How far are
you riding today” I ask. “Until sunset”
the young lady responds in a British accent.
“We are going back to University this fall; we started in Virginia and
have ridden 2,000 miles so far”. “Where
are you from” I ask. “London” the lad
intones. I stated “The Olympics were awesome, London put on a good show”. “How many flats have you had” I asked. “10 so far” she says, “It takes about 15
minutes to fix a tire.” I thought I’d
give them a little sporting news from the homeland. “The English Premier League started up
today,” I said, “Manchester United beat Chelsea.”
The young lad pulled his head up and looked at me,
the first time he lifted his head. He
looked at me with a blank expression.
I’m not sure if he was amazed that I knew that or wondering why I would
think they would care. I’m not sure if
the low key was just being British or because they were so tired; both I
suspect. I only knew that factoid
because I was listening to a BBC news feed on NPR. In these wide open blank spots in the map I can
usually find an NPR station to link to world events.
I roll along the very low waters of Curecanti
spinning up thoughts to pass the time on the low traffic highway. I like watching the landscape change as the
miles pile up. Thinking back to the
British lads at the store I spin up this train of thought:
A set of inputs leads
to a logical output, solution, or destination.
Except in the Southern hemisphere where the Coriolis Effect spins the
logic in a counterclockwise or right to left
logic string which starts with a conclusion and ends with a
premise. The Northern Hemisphere
thinking process unwinds in a conventional clockwise or left to right fashion
except in the UK where they drive on left, think on the right, and basically
don’t follow any logical process what so ever.
I hit Gunnison and upload supplies at City Market;
the ‘go to’ grocer of Colorado. Gunnison
sits at 8,600 feet with hot sunny summers and long, cold, sunny winters (the
nation’s daily low temp often occurs in Gunnison or nearby Alamosa or
Leadville). I am wildcarding my camp
site tonight, heading up canyon, down canyon, back up canyon, hitting
construction, taking a side road up a narrowing remote canyon – home. I’m in a narrowing canyon with 800’ vertical
rock walls about a half mile apart squeezing the canyon. It has the look and feel of the Arkansas
Valley; grey boulders with grey lichens and grey sagebrush interspersed with
large Ponderosa Pines. My camp sits on a spring fed trout
stream. This landscape soothes the soul
and feeds the spirit.
I start my fire with some peach sized Ponderosa
cones; they are an excellent mini torch.
Darkness slides in and I still see remnants of the Perseid Meteor
Shower; it is a banner year as predicted.
One large white meteor streaks parallel to the horizon. Another meteor streaks parallel to the canyon
leaving an orange trail as large as Jupiter.
Meteors are streaking at haphazard directions; perhaps an indication
that Earth is moving through the edge of the stream of comet debris. I do my own version of crash and burn. I am on uneven ground so my sleeping
situation is a bit Paul Giamatti – sideways.
Day 12: LAKE IRWIN, Raggeds Wilderness, Gunnison
N.F. 39° & 75°
The morning is cold and cloudy. I backtrack down
canyon into Gunny and roll up to Crested Butte.
Crested Butte, the out of the way ski and biking haven for the artistic
neo hippy let it slide and ride Bohemians; way laid back and rich in alpine
scenery and local digs. The suitcase and
wallet crowd bases a few miles up road at the ski resort. I’m keeping it real
with the townies.
My first order of biz is a shower at the
International Hostel, a homemade version of Mac’s sausage, egg, muffin and hash
browns at a local gas station/short order café topped off with a fresh grind
cup of dark roast. The same 2 chaps are
serving up the artery clogging chow and constant stream of witty comments the
past 8 years that I’ve been here.
Crested Butte was a company town built to mine the
bituminous coal in the area. Coal mining
ended in 1852, the railroad pulled up the tracks down to Gunnison, and the
economy crashed until a ski run was opened in 1962. About 1,500 people live in Crested, the
‘Wildflower Capital of Colorado’. The
speed limit is 15 m.p.h., what’s the rush; it is bike, ped, dog, and kid friendly. There is ‘Butte Time’ - it happens when it
will happen. There are no street lights
in Crested, curbs stray light pollution.
I take a stroll down the main drag, Elkhorn Avenue,
and take in the building buzz. A young
gal in a long pastel flower dress is riding down the street on a classic one
speed bike with a wire basket wired to the back carrier which sits on top of
the full fender. It is mid-morning but
this town ramps up slowly. I drop a few cards
at the P.O., pick up a few hats and shirts, and then stop in an old brown brick
1880 saloon that is now a purveyor of fresh baked goods , coffee, sandwiches,
and brews from the microbrew across the street, the Eldo, which bills itself as
‘the sunny place for shady people’. The
ceilings are of the 1880 style, very high and inlaid with engraved metal.
The weather is looking marginal so I head to
Buckaroo Beanery to grab some java and information via my tablet. The radar shows light rain moving in from the
West Elk Mountains. This is the excuse I
need to sit in town and relax. I eat up some
local news, baked goods & lattes while tuning in to the patter of the
locals coming in for their java fix.
Two pals cross paths and one asks “How was your
summer”. This is an odd statement for
August 19th; the dog days of summer back in Minnesota but the onset
of fall in the high country. “I hope
this winter isn’t as bad as last year” the other chimes in. “Ya, hope we get a good snowpack” the first
one adds. Again, mega snow is a good
thing in a ski town; still it runs counter to my thinking. The Brick Oven Pizza shop delivers slices to
Buckaroo at 11:00, another reason to extend my stay here.
 |
| Ruby Mountain |
By mid afternoon the clouds thin so I roll the 8
miles of gravel forest road to Kebler Pass.
The final 2 miles is a decent gravel road to Lake Irwin; a blue gem sitting
at 10,400 feet. This campground is one
of the highest developed campsites in the U.S.
It is perched on a rocky hill above the lake among meadows and spruce
and fir trees. The multi colored Ruby
Range runs along the Western horizon a few miles away. The Anthracite Range dominates the southern
view just across the valley. The
symmetrical volcano named Carbon Peak rises to the S.E. The smoke from western wildfires is thicker
here than I thought it would be. A crescent
razor thin moon sets over the Ruby Range.
I pull out the heavy BTU oak to mix with some snap, crackle, pop Pine to chase the chill that is certain to set
in at this elevation. The skies are
extremely dark and clear, the stars crisp.
I see 4 meteors as the temp dives to 39 degrees by midnight.
Fire and sky; the baseline experience since the
dawn of man. Staying in one spot gives
you a sense of place; otherwise it is like a photograph, a snapshot in
time. In the San Miguel’s over the days
I saw how the light hits the mountains in the morning, silhouettes out at
sunset and see the sun dropping along the side of Middle Pk. A few days are but a slice of a season, of a
century, of an epoch. It would be cool to see the landscape change in fast
forward mode from Earth spinning up from a cloud of dust 4.5 billion years ago.
It is amazing to think that the galaxy as we see it
is expanding at an expanding rate.
Eventually it will stretch matter thinner and less dense until the
universe disappears. The sun, the earth,
people and even atoms will expand and pull apart into nothingness. But the matter we see is but 5% of the mass
of the universe; dark matter being 20% and the rest being dark energy – the
elusive Higgs boson particle.
Day 13: 35° & 75°
The BLUE
LAKE Wildcat Hike:
Wake up at sunrise and a crisp 35°. I prep for my hike, load cold water, strap on
the new Vasque Sundowner hikers, check the camera, GPS, binocs, load up some
carbs and grab my hickory hiking stick. It’s time to add 7 more miles to my lifetime
hiking total. I whittle a band around my
hiking stick for every 500 miles hiked.
I’ve logged 3,165 miles, far fewer than the near 15,000 miles on my bike
but the miles just kind of roll up on the bike.
 |
| Marigolds |
Few of my lifetime miles are easy street such as
the 24 mile round tripper with 9,000’ of elevation change to the bottom of the
Grand Canyon and out. It was 38° on the
rim and over 100° at the bottom. The
last 3 miles out of the canyon climbed the Redwall in full sun at a 20%
grade. Also memorable is the 14 miler to
Longs Peak Key Hole with 8,000’ of el change.
The weather went from sun to rain, snow, and ice pellets with a hike out
down a snowfield in a whiteout. I also
hiked 10 miles up Flattop Mountain and walked along the continental divide a
few miles before glissading down Andrews Glacier to a tarn while battling the
onset of severe altitude sickness. Hiking 10 miles across the Utah desert in
100° heat to the confluence of the Green and Colorado Rivers also stands
out. Climbing rope ladders into and out
of red rock canyons added interest to the hike.
I also hiked along the Oregon Coast for 10 miles; exploring caverns, sea
life, dodging crashing waves and incoming tides. Oh wait, that would be the definition of easy
street, hey, even the Hickory Hiker needs some down time.
I also notch a tepee in my hiking stick for every
100 nights camping out; I have notched 873 nights so far. My hiking stick is a solid piece of Shagbark
Hickory from Kipp S.P. in extreme S.E. Minnesota. A piece of leather is wrapped around the top
for a hand hold. I have a mini
thermometer and compass attached and a clip to attach bird feathers I find on
my hikes.
Todays hike is a wildcat off trail excursion
masterminded from the lounge chair in winter with the aid off topo maps and
Google Earth. I am in the Ruby Range
basin. This basin is separated from the
adjacent Oh-Be-Joyful valley and basin by a tundra ridge. This ridge would afford views into both
basins and long panoramic mountain top views; stellar stuff if it pans. As I found in the San Miguel’s, hiking the
terrain is different from mapping it. I
head cross country around a pond across undulating meadows with pockets of
Spruce and Fir trees. Iron in the soil
has oxidized turning it a light brown. The sun is out, the air calm and cold.
The hike
beta:
start elevation: 10,450’
end elevation: 11,855’
miles: 7.1’
average MPH up: 1.7
average MPH down: 2.8
 |
| Ruby Range |
A Red Fox crosses my path. It is heading down to the lake. The Ruby Range comes into full view. The Rubies top out over 13,000’ and are
purple, cinnamon, maroon, and white.
Rather than hike up the valley, I am striking cross country straight up and
onto Ruby Peak to a bench or shelf that runs across the base to adjacent Mt.
Owen. I hit tree line and cross the base
of an avalanche slope. Most years the
slope is a huge snowfield. I cross a 3
foot wide brook which splits a large meadow.
The brook cascades off a 40 foot chiseled purple cliff. A white moth with black bars along the front
edges of its wigs and black circles on its back wings sips nectar from a
sunflower.
 |
| Basin to wildcat up to ridge |
The climb is steady. I cross over a braided stream that cascades
off a 60’ cliff from Green Lake to an alpine tundra cirque below Purple
Mtn. This is wildcat time. I I survey the terrain and pick a route across
the basin to the far ridge. A flock of
Grey Jays passes through. I take a
circular route up and over purple cliffs and climb to the high point of a
saddle in the ridge.
 |
| Purple Cliff Talus slopes |
I drop my pack in the short brown tundra grass
dotted with wildflowers and take in a 360° view. I overlook the head of Oh-Be-Joyful valley,
the basin I climbed up, and magnificent long and deep mountain top views that
defy sensory processing. My view is
hemmed in on one side by a line of 4 tundra topped purple cliffs. Each cliff has a long talus chute of purple
rocks beneath it that meets the thinning forest as it blends tree line into
tundra. Across the neck of the basin is
symmetrical Gothic Mtn. with runoff chutes dropping down from the peak.
 |
| Blue Lake |
The opposite valley ridge forms the N.E. wall of
the valley and is infused with striations of white rock. Looking off towards Aspen and the Maroon Bells,
peaks loom across the horizon, poking above the Joyful valley walls and the
building cumulus cloud swatches. The
near peaks of Purple Peak, Afley Pk., Oh-Be-Joyful Pk., and Hancock Pk. form
the 12 ½ thousand foot head wall of the valley.
The ridge I’m on juts out into the valley. 800 feet directly below me is Blue Lake.
Miles away Lake Irwin glistens in the sun like a
jewel recessed into a dark green forest.
The volcanic Anthracite Range looms as the northern outpost of the West
Elk Mountains. The volcano Carbon Peak
is silhouetted from the back lighting and wildfire smoke. The Ruby Range contains my view as it runs
south into the Anthracites. The Ruby
basin is a patchwork of meadows, cliffs, forest, and brooks.
A cold alpine breeze blows up from the valley while
my back cooks in the hot sun. The views
and my thoughts are expansive. In my
mind I am still that young buck who could hike all day, jump creeks & crevices
and scale landslide slopes. I am closer
to the day I will be unable to do this hike.
My spirit will die long before my physical shell. In some ways it is too late to leverage that
hard earned wisdom to advantage.
It is an ironic quandary that as we get older we
learn the possibility of our dreams with the wisdom and knowledge to attain
them. Sadly we are locked in and too
vested in the current path. It is too
late to change the trajectory in any earth shattering meaningful way. As we get older there are fewer moments of
pure joy, exhilaration, and triumph. The bonds of family and friends
disintegrate and dissolve away like a fizzy in a cup of water.
The industrial age has brought great wealth to man
at the cost of our humanity. A more
intimate interface with Earth and nature is more fulfilling. Andrew Carnegie controlled 1% of this
country’s wealth in the 1880’s. It was
built on the backs of men working12 hour days 6 days a week. The gentler kinder version is todays cubicle
infused white collar information assembly lines conducted inside fancy brick
corporate headquarter buildings. It can
breed contempt and dissatisfaction. As
Thoreau pointed out, the ‘cost’ of something is better measured in the time it
takes to earn the money to purchase said item.
Our lives get consumed in the minutia and infrastructure of modern life
as we define it.
Increasing smart and sophisticated software and
nano, genetic, robotic technologies may render man to the sidelines and largely
irrelevant. Man may largely be freed
from ‘work’ but bulging populations, the strip mining of earth & oceans of
resources, pollution, a poisoned environment,
and concentration of wealth may leave no wild nature left to enjoy. We will live in the cubicle of the new age; a
garage sized concrete bunker stacked end to end to infinity to efficiently
house man. Our experiences with nature
will all be virtual; which is to say virtually nonexistent.
I stand here in this magnificence and grandeur of
nature. This is why I am here on
Earth. Photography is my voice, my
interface to the world. I never lived in
a place that I’d call home; but this is home; and life sustaining. This view is much the same as it was a
century ago. Time becomes the here and
now. Everything else either has happened
or will happen. The Sun & Moon move
across the sky at a slightly shallower or higher arc each day. These are the demarcations of time. Calendars and clocks become irrelevant. Time is malleable like the Salvador Dali
watch.
Sitting on the mountain top is me stealing the
nexus; the nectar of the landscape. In a
sense it is not pure for I am but a visitor.
The sun is shining, the sky is blue, tundra grasses and flowers hug the
earth, white puffs of cumulus march across the sky with their shadows moving
in lockstep across the massive landscape. This is life and I am alive.
I track back slowly to camp. The grand views incrementally dissolve as I
descend; like an ore carrier disappearing over the Lake Superior horizon. I lounge and snack too long at camp. I rush to Crested and just miss the U.S.A.
Pro Cycling riders cruising through town by 10 minutes. Lance Armstrong was in town yesterday. He ran from his digs in Aspen across the
mountains to Crested and back. It
certainly has to be a 30 mile run (it’s a 160 miles to drive to Aspen). As long as I’m in town I hit the Buckaroo
Beanery and grab a few supplies (supplies meaning snacks).
 |
| The Anthracite Range |
 |
| Carbon Peak |
I track back to camp in time to catch the Earth’s
orbital velocity spin it out of view of the sun, otherwise known as
sunset. The Anthracite Range is silhouetted
in a smoky grey haze. At this elevation
above 10,000 feet the temp drops quickly.
I crank up a fire as the stars spin up.
The crescent moon sinks below the Ruby Mountains through a thin stand of
Spruce trees shortly after darkness sets in with Mars, Saturn, and Spica
clustered with it.
Day 14: ROCKY MOUNTAIN
NATIONAL PARK, Moraine 45° & 82°
It is a long slow 300 mile day from Crested to
RMNP. With some poking around, it takes
most of the day; travel in the mountains is slow. From camp it is an hour on a gravel forest
road to get to the asphalt of Hwy 133. I
slow down as a couple Peruvians are herding a flock of sheep to new grazing
ground. I pass what used to be open
ranch land; the frontage with the road is now roped with ‘private’ signs. This would be Bill Koch’s 5,000 acre private
playground near Kebler Pass. He moved 50
original “Old West” buildings from another of his enclaves in Florida to this
location. There are 2 guards at a gate
on the property. He bought a hotel in
Aspen and converted it to living quarters for himself (hence the adage that
‘the billionaires are chasing the millionaires out of Aspen’). So this little old west ranch he has created
is for the amusement of him and his family; public non grata.
 |
| Marcella Mountain |
I hit the pavement at the bone dry Paonia
Reservoir. I run along the Crystal
River. I have seen it full on with class
V+ rapids and now it is the lowest I have ever seen it. Huge marble boulders lie wedged in the bends
of the river where the current slows.
The Yule marble quarry lies up canyon from here. A train hauling marble from the quarry
derailed in the ‘50’s and the marble rolled into the river to be carried
downstream. Marble from this quarry was
used to build the Washington Monument. Redvale
is a little enclave on the river perfect for the first stop for coffee. Soon I’m on the hunt for slices and load up
in Glenwood Springs where I catch I70 heading to Denver.
My plan is to hit the west side of Rocky Mtn N.P.
and then head over the divide the next morning.
The GPS is throwing me a route I don’t agree with; I win that
battle. Clouds and rain roll in so I
figure no sense hanging on the wet side of the divide. I keep heading East through the Eisenhower
Tunnel. Upon emerging from the other
side a semi directly in front of me has blown a radiator and is spraying fluid
all over the road and my windshield.
Pit stop in Frisco to the town’s VC to access their
computer to check the weather. Rain is
socked in west of the divide, confirming my plan to head to Estes Park on the
dryer eastern side. I haven’t been up
Hwy 6 from I70 to Estes for a couple decades.
It is a bad route, slow and curvy with much of it 40 m.p.h. Hwy 6 is also part of the last couple of legs
of the Pro Cycling Race so this road will be closed tomorrow. Blackhawk is the first town on Hwy 6; it
sports large casino operations now. I pass through the small alternate
lifestyle/new age/hippie/religious sect towns of Nederland and Ward to Estes
Park, the gateway to Rocky Mountain. I
map out my itinerary and routes but I always modify on the fly depending upon
weather, time, and how the spirit is moving me.
This is Wednesday so I’ll have no trouble getting a
site, it will be full Fri-Mon. The west
side of the divide is wetter with Lodgepole Pines; the east drier with
Ponderosas. I drop a few sticks in the
fire pit to relax by the fire. Some
light rain moves in after sunset.
Day 15: ROCKY MOUNTAIN
N.P. – Moraine #102 47° & 76°
Two batches of rain roll through during the night
totaling .18”. The divide is blanketed
in clouds and rain. Looks like time to
head to Estes for supplies, gas, papers, funky gift shop for some cards, a
moose lamp, stained glass bear, and a couple shirts. Maple pecan fried cinnamon donuts from the
Donut Haus are the best anywhere. Head
back into the park to the VC (Visitor Center) to buy a N.P. SAR (Search &
Rescue) book on incidents in the N.P. I
get the latest hiking intel for “the Crater” trail, it opened 5 days ago. This volcanic crater is a calving ground for
Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep so is closed until late summer. I fire up the tablet to check mail and get
the latest weather data.
 |
| View from #102, Longs Pk & Divide |
I roll back to Moraine campground and grab my
favored site, #102. It is a walk-in site
atop a glacial moraine that overlooks the continental divide and Longs
Peak. I lay out the lounge chair and
read. I bask in the sun (too hot) or
move to the shade of a lone Ponderosa Pine (too cool) and dodge some light
rain. Clouds move among the peaks, some
dark and heavy and throwing some lightning.
The deep bass thunder echoes down the valley.
The east side of the divide partially clears late
evening and the daily ritual fire is soon blazing. A big bright satellite moves quickly across
the sky, N.W. to S.E., could it be the space station? It looks similar to the space station I
watched zip across the sky at Glacial Lakes S.P. in Minn in 1998. Brown bats are flying around gathering
snacks. It is chilling down but balmy
here at 8,600 feet, especially compared to the near freezing wake up at Lake
Irwin. The crescent moon is hanging 10°
above the continental divide. The moon
is only 10 Earth diameters from us.
The moon has an elliptical orbit around Earth. Its orbital velocity around Earth is 2,428
m.p.h. Earth rotates around its axis at
1,000 m.p.h. and travels around the sun in its orbit at 67,000 m.p.h. Our Solar System rotates around the Milky Way
galaxy at 486,000 m.p.h. Our sun being
4.5 billion years old, it has made about 20 revolutions around the black hole
at the center of our (and every) galaxy.
How was the moon created? The theory gaining credence is that the Moon
formed from a coalescing of earth debris after a Mars sized object pulverized
the Earth’s mantle in a glancing blow. The
astronomer at Black Canyon postulated that this space object may have scraped
off millions of years of rock layers explaining the great unconformity, the gap
in the geological time record. I’m going
to have a gap in my sleep record if I don’t grab some ZZZ’s.
Day 16: ROCKY MOUNTAIN
N.P. – Moraine #101 39° & 86°
 |
| Sunrise from #102 |
This is my 33rd trip to Rocky Mountain
N.P. (approximately). The draw – stately
Ponderosa Pines, Alpine Tundra, big time peaks, the divide, mega fauna. I think Timber Wolves would be a great
addition to the park; the Rangers don’t agree.
I awake at dawn to a red red blazing sky and fanciful cloud formations. If the sun and clouds were dancing it would
be the tango, light and shadow; reds, crimson, and orange playing with the
shape shifting clouds, puffy alto cumulus clouds layered under 3 large wispy horsetail
cirrus clouds. 14,255’ Longs Peak is the first to light up. Some thick clouds move east off the
divide. It’s ‘D’ time on the hike, go or
no go. I’ve never hiked to the Crater so
ready to hit it.
 |
| Longs Peak catching sunrise light |
The CRATER hike:
 |
| Longs Pk & Continental Divide |
 |
| Kawuneeche Valley & La Poudre River |
This hike has a high V/E ratio (Views to
Effort). It starts at Poudre Lake at
Milner Pass and follows the divide as it snakes up through the forest. It emerges above tree line affording a long
view down the Kawuneeche Valley, a slash of brown grasses meandering
irregularly between 2 green forested ascending ranges. The narrow Cache la
Poudre River flows through this gash. It
is an abrupt transition from forest to krumholtz, the stunted low growing
spruce and fir shrubs and tundra. The land
abruptly changes to rocks which lead to the edge of the crater, which is about
a quarter mile in diameter. A
multi-color view unfolds at the edge of the volcanic crater. The ¾ round crater is open at the far end
where a crack of forest grows up to meet an upward slanting table of tundra
which ends at the crater lip. The crater
walls are steeply angled landslide talus slopes that are mostly white rock and
barely stable.
 |
| Crater Wall |
An alpine sheet of green rises around the left edge
of the crater and drops down to a narrow band of rock around the crater
opening. A similar ring of white rock
sharply rises in a high arc around the right crater rim. Massive and steep Specimen Mountain rises
from here. It is composed entirely of
hand sized white flat rocks.
The crater is 500 feet deep the inside of which is
a Jules Verne fantasy land of ledges, cliffs, and landslides of white and grey
rock. The stunning chiseled and colorful
Never Summer range rises above the crater a couple miles away. Glaciers carved cirques out of the 10 12,500’
peaks of the range. Bands of red ionized
iron stand in stark contrast to white snow fields and patches of green pines
and blue sky. I’ve never seen the range
without a thick mantle of snow.
I climb the rock ridge snaking along the base of
Specimen Mtn. to the high point of the crater edge for a different
perspective. A large bird of prey works
the winds to remain stationary over the top of Specimen looking for prey. The wind is cold and howling at 40
m.p.h. A few rocks tumble into the
crater from high inside the crater wall.
Two Black Bears scamper on a Bighorn Sheep trail on a crescent shaped
thin wedge below a cliff. More rocks
tumble and I hear a sheep‘s distress cry 4 times. It is so dry the bears are desperate for
food.
 |
| Hickory Hiker on Crater Rim, Never Summer Mtn Range |
The cumulus clouds are building and filling
in. Rain is falling to the south, its
roll time. The descent is quick. An older couple stops me and asks “How many
cars were at the trailhead when you came up.”
They were upset that a group of 4 hikers climbed Specimen Mtn. which
they insisted was closed to hiking due to the Bighorn Sheep. “I spoke to them after they climbed down” I
said. “They told me they called the back country office and a Ranger told them the area was open.” They were going to report it to a Ranger and
wanted to figure out what car at the trailhead was theirs. I’m not into this so push on.
I meet a young couple in the forest taking 5. They are school teachers in New York and
enjoying a summer of hiking in the National Parks. We talk about the hike, wildfires, the
dryness, politics, and the economy. They
say something that has me thinking “Your generation has ruined this country”
they tell me. “The generation coming up
has a completely different value system, things will change.” “I hope you are correct” I tell them. I consider my contemporaries as thoughtful
and considerate people. The generation
that protested the Vietnam War, started the environmental movement. Perhaps a small subset of our generation have
taken the political reins with a self-centered get rich what’s in it for me
approach to life.
The 40 mile drive back on Trail Ridge road is
relaxing. Trail Ridge is the highest
paved road in the U.S. It winds across
the top of the tundra for 12 miles at 12,000 feet. It runs on a mountain ridge
adjacent to the half mile deep Forest Valley which gives rise to the big peaks
of the Continental Divide. It certainly
is one of the most scenic routes in America.
This and the Going to the Sun road in Glacier N.P. and route 1 along the
California coast are the money routes.
The bowl at the Alpine V.C. has scant snow; a herd of Elk is
grazing. Usually this bowl is a massive
snowfield many feet deep.
 |
| Elk harem in Moraine Meadow |
Back at camp a light rain is moving through. I walk to the valley meadow as a small
rainbow arc forms over Deerhead Mtn. A
big bull Elk is herding his harem of about 150 to 170 cows across the gathering
Big Thompson River. The buck carries a
massive rack, tilts his head back and bugles.
I’ve never seen Elk gather up for mating this early. The entire herd passes 30 feet from me; it’s
like the Serengeti. Yearling Elk lie down in the brown grasses and call for Mom
as other Elk graze on the move.
 |
| Buck after rolling in mud |
 |
The buck heads for a mud hole and rolls vigorously
in it. After 10 minutes he is covered in
a layer of black mud. A darker coat is
more attractive to the females. A young
buck stands on the edge of the herd, looking to cut a few females from the herd
for himself. I don’t see him challenging
this big bucks’ harem but an equally large buck a half mile away certainly
will. I head back to camp as rain and
thunder dance nearby. The moon is now at
1st quarter. Cloud patches
drift in and out as sunlight ebbs out and moonlight ebbs in like the tide. An owl coo’s as a distant stream rushes in
the background. My fire blazes a hole
into the night. I often seem to be the
last to close shop at night and first up in the morning.
Day 17: ROCKY MOUNTAIN
N.P. – Moraine #101 45° & 83°
It is a sunrise get ‘n go. I am greeted with wall to wall blue sky with
a couple puffs of small clouds passing through.
It is primo weather for my 6 mile wildcat tundra hike along the lip of
Forest Canyon and the massive peaks of the continental divide.
The UTE ALPINE TUNDRA Wildcat hike:
 |
| View of Gorge Lakes Canyon & Mt. Ida on Continental Divide |
Early light casts deep shadows giving depth to the
landscape. Alpine tundra light at 12,000
feet seems sharper, brighter, and perhaps color shifted to the yellow side of
the spectrum. There is about 40% less
oxygen at this elevation and the UV radiation can be punishing. I’ve seen burn periods as low as 5
minutes. I once sun burned my corneas
crossing snowfields and glaciers, even with shades.
 |
| Lichen & Grasses in Tundra |
A family of 5 orangeish Marmots greets me among the
rock piles I’m traversing. Only the big
fat Mom Marmot has a yellow belly. This
is rocky tundra with few wildflowers this time of year, especially with it
being so dry. It is a brisk 51° and
windy. I start on the Ute trail, a path
traveled by the Ute Indians across the tundra to the valleys below. I cut wildcat style across the tundra landing
my boots on rocks or gravel patches to avoid trampling the miniature gardens
beneath my feet.
 |
| Forest Canyon & Stones Peak |
I walk a mile to the edge of Forest Canyon, a half
mile deep forested canyon. I get front
on views of the Gorge Lakes; a string of snowmelt tarns set in the cirque below
several peaks on the divide including Mt. Ida.
I am face on to Stones Peak which rises 4,300’ directly from the canyon
floor. There is only 1 snowfield; it is
tucked away at tree line. Enough melt
water flows off to feed a small waterfall that jumps off a rocky chute and into
Forest Canyon.
There are few snowfields tucked under the divide,
rare. Stones Peak is so large and looms
so close that your mind can’t make sense of it. It is like stepping onto your
porch to pick up the paper and seeing a mountain dropped in your front
yard. The mountain is about 3 miles long
and 1 mile wide. It is so large that it
falls outside the minds processing parameters of scale, size, and
perspective. In this sense, it is like
pulling up to the rim of the Grand Canyon.
The waters of the Big Thompson River roar down Forest
Canyon. A Raven cawks from atop a pile
of boulders. I follow the edge of the
canyon to lands’ end and an edge on view of Stones Pk. and the valley cut up
alongside it. I sit on a boulder looking
out over the canyon and divide beside a large pile of boulders that blocks the
brisk cool wind streaming over the lip of the canyon.
 |
| Edge of the Tundra Mesa |
The far view is of Longs Peak and 4 ridges of hazy
mountains back-lit and silhouetted. This
is a very sensory experience. Owl clover
and 4” tall sunflowers bloom among the miniature grasses and yellow and maroon
lichens smothering volcanic boulders.
This is an edge of the world experience.
Rocky Mountain is a park of big peaks.
Colorado has 54 peaks over 14,000 feet and 680 over 13k (California’s
Sierras has only 13 over 14k). The
tallest peak in Canada is 12,972’ Mt. Robson in BC.
I turn and roll back and get a long high view of
the miles of tundra ahead. There are 2
parallel ascending ridges of rock about 400 feet apart interspersed with 150
foot tall rock towers. The tundra
between the 2 ridges appears as a green carpeted ramp or runway. On the distant horizon the tree line of the
Mummy Range is clearly delineated against an azure sky and scattered snow
fields. The micro and the macro views
are amply rewarded in the high tundra.
 |
| Tundra views to the Mummy Range |
 |
| The Hickory Hiker in some down time |
Back at camp I prepare for a mega fire for my last
night. I've depleted most of the red oak
so head to the vendor’s shack to load up on 2 wood and 2 ice. The last 2 ice blocks lasted 6 days, credit
temps in the 30’s at night. “Good to see
you again” I tell the ice/wood vendor. He is a middle aged tall and lanky man with a
bit of a handlebar mustache wearing a red plaid shirt, well-worn jeans, and
scuffed high top boots. His face and
hands are wrinkled and worn as well; indicating he spends a lot of time
outdoors and not afraid of physical labor.
The wood is varying sizes of pine stuffed in a mesh plastic bag loaded
into his old flatbed truck. The bed of
the truck has wooden posts and cross pieces to contain the bags of wood. “God willing, I’ll be seeing you again next
year” I say in parting.
 |
| Star Trails centered on North Star |
I watch an Elk herd in the meadow and press in to
the bark of a Ponderosa Pine to smell the butterscotch aroma. The sun falls, fire in the hole, a pregnant
quarter moon sits due south, it moves about 15° east each night. Enjoy a long massive burn and the night sky
one last time.
Day 18: North Platte
49° & 100°
I wake at
sunrise to a crisp morning and start a fire off last night’s coals. This landscape sits well with me; gray/green
shrubs, green Ponderosas and pink granite boulders. Clouds are building and rain looks
imminent. Time to rock and roll the 975
miles back to the homestead. Clean,
pack, and organize the vehicle for the highway surfing ahead. Roll through Estes Park with the requisite
stop at the Donut Haus. Hwy 34 winds
down along the rushing Big Thompson River to the Front Range town of Loveland. Eight Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep graze in
the cliffs above the river.
Then I’m shot
out onto the dry hot dusty Colorado plains & I76, built in the
Bi-centennial year of 1976 as a shortcut from I80 to Denver and quite possibly
the last time it was paved or repaired.
I see both ends of a rainbow and a massive mushrooming cumulo nimbus. Hit I80 and roll into North Platte at sunset.
Grab a spot at the “Holiday RV
Park”. They give me a site fronting I80
by the front entrance adjacent to an equipment shed backed up to a ratty fence
that separates the park from a parking lot and strip mall with a street light
nearby. Sweetness, could you find a more
repulsive site for me. This is a rude
dog reintroduction to the real world that was inevitable.
Day 19: Home Port
66° & 90°
 |
| The Sand Hills of Nebraska |
It is a long
210 miles straight north from I80 to I90 through the void of the Sand Hills of
Nebraska. The landscape is minimalist
with basic elements of undulating sand hills held in place by grasses, yucca
and sunflowers. The land is dotted with
wind vanes, cattle, and ranches; a sublime beauty. There is but one outpost on the entire
route. The I90 speedway takes me the
final 400 miles. This 3,265 mile journey
has come to an end. The experiences are
the nectar of life that sustain and maintain the life force until the next
trip. MEF
If you spot any errors I’d appreciate your
keeping them to yourself; my fact checker retired from exhaustion long ago.
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