LAKE SUPERIOR AUTUMN

Autumn is lingering past early October along the North Shore of Minnesota's Lake Superior coast. The forest always holds it's leaves longer along the shore with the moderating temperature influence of Superior. Inland, the maples have mostly dropped their deep orange and yellow canopy. This is a year of intense color up here in the boreal forests of the Arrowhead; the tip of the geographic spear in the extreme Northeast of Minnesota.

Summer is hanging on deep into the season in the northwoods. The mercury hits 80 degrees. My first order of business is to poke up the Sawbill Trail through Superior National Forest into the BWCA to get to a vantage point to see the fire raging just north of Silver Island Lake. I cross over the Sawtooth Mountains that parallel the coast. Twenty miles inland I climb the high point of the Misqua Hills; a divide that separates waters flowing north to the Arctic Ocean via Hudson Bay, and south into Lake Superior and the Atlantic. With a hint of smoke in the air, I am stopped a half mile from the lake by a Forest Ranger barring entry. The firefighters have established a camp on the landing to the lake.

A 3/4 moon rises out of Superior as darkness descends, coyotes yip, and my fire bathes the birch in orange light. The sky is alive with dark strips of clouds slowing moving through the sky alternating with thinner stratus layers that are set aglow by the moon with clear sky between them. Bright Jupiter rises from the Lake, it is very close to Earth now (350 million miles). Morning brings a calm Superior and a crisp temp. The sun takes over by mid morning heating up the land.

One of the great hikes up here requiring minimum effort with maximum views is the short trip up top of Oberg Mountain. If affords great views of the Autumn forest with the Onion River cutting through it and Levieux Mountain due south. Lake Superior shimmers just a few miles away. A trail circles the top of the mountain with terrific views all around. Britton Peak is another short hike with a lot of scenery bang for the hiking buck. The large granite flat top Carlton Peak rises due south with a maple forest spread directly below Britton. Carlton Peak is circled by a band of bare maples, their textured limbs reaching haphazardly toward the sky. The Sawtooth Mountains have pockets of flaming maples with a view of Lake Superior as a backdrop.

A yearling eats oak bark just off the trail, unconcerned with my presence. The forest shows it's shape and texture. Green spruce and fir add a counterbalance of color to the oranges and reds of the forest and the blues of the sky and the lake. Pink salmon run up the Temperance River though the salmon run is done 20 miles up coast at Cascade River. The boreal forest is well established here though global warming may push out the spruce and firs and favor the growth of maples, aspen, and even oak. I head up the Caribou Trail to the Superior Hiking Trail to a spur to White Sky Rock which tops out with a long view of horseshoe shaped Caribou Lake. I descend as the light fades and the nighttime is firetime.

Superior is building in intensity with the passing of a front. After midnight it will be rocking and rolling. The now full moon rises over the lake arcing to a position of due South at midnight. Lake Superior has a 1" tide but 4 foot waves eclipse that minute rise. The full moon arcing and stars circling to a fire on the wave pounded coast gives rise to philosophical meanderings and life and self evaluations. The sky gives rise to the recent confirmation that our universe is not only expanding, but expanding at an increasing rate. What is infinite space, why would our universe be the only one, are their infinite universes all expanding into infinite space. Hard for man's logical mind to grasp an understanding of it. Man, we need a 5 billion year plan to get off this planet, if we last that long, 8 billion people, you'd think that far exceeds the carrying capacity of the planet. CroMagnum man had a pure way of thinning the herd. The smart and the strong and strong willed survived; the others perished. Modern man has no equivalent natural thinning process. If I don't get to civilization and get a maple pecan roll, a latte, and some pizza there will be one less human on this planet.

Tomorrow I roll. The best of Minnesota is the 'Scenic Corridor', a 460 mile journey from the tip of the Arrowhead adjacent to Canada down Lake Superior, the St. Croix, and down the Mississippi to the blufflands of S.E. Minnesota adjacent to Iowa. It's Hiway 61 at it's best, I'm on my way.

The Hickory Hiker

AUTUMN in the BLUFFS

These are some stellar warm late October days in the unglaciated bluffs of S.E. Minnesota. Head to Houston for the bounty and beauty of a Minnesota Autumn; Houston County that is; the extreme corner of Southeast Minnesota butting up against Wisconsin & Iowa.

This is the apple belt with apple orchards spreading across the vast bluff lands along the Mississippi River. Hiking into the forest in Autumn is a trip to your soul; the essence of life comes bubbling forth. These forests are rich and varied with Black Walnuts, Butternut, Hickory, White & Red & Burr Oaks, Maples, Aspen, Birch, White Pine, Cedar and Ash dominating the landscape. It is a haven for deer, turkeys, black squirrels, red fox, and eagles.

It is an uneven fall color change this year, some trees are green, some bare, oaks have little color, maples and aspens are muted and mostly down with spotty brilliant trees. The leaf change is a week to 10 days early, overlayed by summer phenology that is running equally late. October is warm, it will be the 8th warmest October ever. The leaves on the forest floor are dry and crisp and crackle under my waffle soled Danner hikers. Six to 8 foot tall golden prairie grass waves in the wind, the sun heats up my face, my spirit is warmed.

The sun drops as an orange ball beneath the Mississippi River throwing the Autumn forest in an even warmer orange glow. Darkness ebbs in as the stars spin up spawning meteors and satellites tracking across the sky. My fire throws yet another orange light into the forest. The owl hoots and a pack of coyotes yelp from a nearby bluff to announce their presence. The midnight air chills down to 50 degrees bringing additional weight to the fire.

Morning breaks crisp adding some urgency to cranking up a fire; for the warmth sure but more for the coffee. I grab my hickory hiking stick and walk into the woods and across an open stretch of head high grass. A powder blue dragonfly lifts off straight up and vanishes into an equally powder blue sky. I hike across a limestone ridge into the Queens Bluff Scientific & Natural Area, a preserve primarily for the dwindling and beautiful Timber Rattlesnake.

I am at the head of the valley formed by Kings & Queens Bluff which tower 500 feet above the Mississippi. The bluff is so steep that trees cannot grab hold to grow. These 'goat prairies' are common in Bluffland. I reach the apex of Queens with a limestone perch overlooking a long stretch of the braided Mississippi. The river is very high and a cold 58 degrees. A cold breeze rolls off the river up the bluff while a warm breeze rises up the goat prairies. Eagles and Turkey Vultures frequently ride these thermals to scan the bluffs for prey.

I roll back to camp and take Apple Blossom Drive down to Bauer's market in LaCrescent for all the bounty of the season; apples, cider, blackberry and strawberry jam, honey, pumpkins, curds, organic popcorn and a close up view of the river I've only seen from atop the bluffs. It is roll time but I am refreshed and invigorated by my time in the bluffs; an understated landscape of peace and tranquility and strength that counterbalances the wear and tear of life.
THE HICKORY HIKER

GREAT LAKES ESCAPE

LAKE SUPERIOR ESCAPE

Horace Greeley said "Go west young man, go west . . . " Wrong; go North, escape this hothouse heat and humidity. Greeley never did go west himself so what does he know. While towns in Colorado, Texas, and PA are named after him; he lived on a farm in NY. While I was willing to travel to the arctic tundra to find coolness, I was quite certain I would find it along the Norwegian Riviera, aka Lake Superior.

I had reservations for Rocky Mountain National Park the following week and intended to hike 10 miles of the continental divide to a cirque overlooking some lakes a a couple small glaciers. The tundra above tree line will have to wait due to a new job in the offing. No more 2 hour winter commutes from 'Tonka & UHG in a snowstorm.

I left on the 230 mile drive to Lamb's Resort after a big dump of rain; 1.1" in 40 minutes. The sun came out and the dew point hit 82 degrees. It was like breathing liquid H2Ohhhh! There isn't a higher dew point in the Western Hemisphere; nothing like it except in the Amazon rain forest. The cloud tops are an a strataspheric 70,000 feet. Sherwin Schwartz would have preferred a 3 hour drive but it's a 4 hour tour up to Lambs near Tofte. It is 93 degrees just south of Duluth where powerful storms have dropped the temp 25 degrees.

I arrived and camped lakeside with a cool dry refreshing breeze blowing off the cold waters of Superior. The lake is mellow, the air calm. The sun is dropping and so is the temp and a fire feels pretty good as the night takes over. Superior stirs enveloping the land with the white background noise of waves breaking on the volcanic cliffs. A blood red bulging 3/4 moon rises out of the water just south of due east. All the humidity and rain are scattering the red spectrum similar to sunsets I viewed at the cabin in 1980 after Mt. St. Helens blew. The Pacific ocean and Great Sand Dunes in Colorado also create superior red sunsets.

The summer triangle of stars Deneb, Altair, and Vega quickly establish their presence overhead in the fading twilight. Three satellites cruise overhead. I don't typically see many satellites at this lat/long. The quickest will circle the planet in 90 minutes.

The late afternoon severe storm that moved through Duluth is now flashing lightining across the lake; just East of South which puts it in the vicinity of the Apostle Islands - 43 miles across the lake (37 nautical miles for you seafarers). Minnesota's portion of Lake Superior while lacking archipelagos (until you hit the Suzi Islands on the Canadian border) and massive cliff faces such as in Canada (the high ridgeline of the Sawtooth Mountains does parallel the lake starting north of Silver Bay as do the Misqua Hills near Grand Marais; this is where Minnesota's highest point is; the 2,301' Eagle Mountain, which is 15 miles from Minnesota's lowest point which is 607' at Lake Superior and not to be confused with another Eagle Mtn near Lutsen, whether they are true geographically defined mountains that rise 1,000' above the 'surrounding terrain is questionable); the North Shore is anything but sublime with it's waterfalls cutting through a delicious forest covering a volcanic landscape. I find it interesting that the Mississippi River in Houston County in extreme S.E. Minnesota on the border with Iowa has an elevation of only 627'. That said, I'm glad Mrs. Cook never sees the tangled structure of the proceeding prose that came straight from the butcher shoppe.

Twenty miles inland from Superior lies the Laurentian Divide; a low ridgeline that separates waters that flow north to the Arctic via Hudson Bay or southeast to Superior and the Atlantic. The Divide is the remaining roots of a massive mountain range that rivaled the present day Himalayas in height. Time and glaciers broke it down. Lake Superior owes its existence to the massive weight of 2 mile high glaciers that sank the land and filled with water when the glacier melted. With the weight of the ice gone, the lake bottom is rebounding an inch a decade. In 6,000 years or so the land will have rebounded to shore level, the water will drain away in the process and there will be no Lake Superior (as there is now no Lake Agassiz in NW Minn).

Divergent thoughts enter your mind as you sit around the fire and watch the stars spin around in a circle cut by the arc of the now white moon. Rain falls which ends the night well past midnight. The next morning breaks a cool 62 degrees and clear. The Schroeder Baking Company provides the fuel of lattes and baked goods for the morning. The fire crackles, Superior crashes, and a steady cool east 12 to 15 mph wind blows off the lake keeping things cool. A big storm rolled through the BWCA and dumped 2.2" of rain in Grand Marais; putting a portion of the Gunflint Trail under water. I'm in the band of calm sandwiched between the big storms just the north & south of me.

Lake Superior is like the mountains in that the sun is warm and the sea breeze cool, like being at altitude. Also, land warmed air rises drawing in the fresh breezes from the lake. At night as the air cools, it moves down slope toward the lake. A similar process happens in the mountains as air rises from valley to mountains with a reverse flow at night, which sometimes reverses again. The cool boreal forest starts here as well; a demarcation line in the climate. Most vacations are spent traveling through time and space. Experiences turn inward when you stay in the same space and have time travel through you. You see, hear, and feel the rhythms of nature. The seemingly random fluctuations in wind and waves and clouds blend with the mathematical precision of the sun and moon and stars arcing across the sky.

Evening blends into twilight with what appears to be more of a quarter moon rising big and orange over the lake 17 minutes later than the previous evening. I see 4 meteors and 5 satellites; 2 of which are paired up and tracking on the exact same path, 1 just seconds behind the other; never seen that. A thin band of alto stratus clouds drifts over the lake heading for WI.

The next day brings 90 degree heat onshore but cool and contemplative sitting on the basalt cliffs next to a lapping tranquil Superior. My perch above the lake is occasionally sprinkled with cold water as a larger than average wave hits the cliff face. The lake has a pulse with waves hitting shore every 1 1/2 to 2 seconds or 37 wpm (waves per minute.) The Pacific Ocean has a much slower pulse. The waves roll in with 6 to 8 second intervals (9 wpm). The sound of the waves is of a lower frequency as well. The Pacific can see rogue waves that can be 100 feet tall and detectable by satellites.

While rogue waves refer to an ocean phenomenon, the Great Lakes are known to also spawn rogue waves. Lake Superior has a phenomenon known as the "3 sisters" which is a series of 3 waves much taller than the average wave on the lake at that time. Some theororize that is was 3 Sisters waves that took down the Edmound Fitzgerald. A 3 Sisters set of waves rolled through the Arthur Anderson and was heading for the Fitz. Folklore says every 7th wave is much larger than normal. On Lake Superior one year I was walking at the edge line where the bare rock met the grass, some 35 feet from the water and had a wave break over my head.

My photography this day is simple elements of rock, water, and sky. Nature photography is best when it is simple, nature broken down to its building blocks of line, pattern, texture, and color. It is the basis of nature and of art. Darkness replaces the light. Looking due east from here is an open expanse of 330 miles of water to a point just north of the Soo Locks. But how far across the lake can I actually see. I can see the harbor light at Grand Marais some 30 road miles up coast. I see two 1,000 foot ore ships following each other on the horizon. I can see the lighthouse light on Sand Island in the Apostles about 40 miles away. How far can I see, where is the actual horizon line.

Not far away at all it turns out. The answer my friend is not only not blowing in the non-existent winds but defies expectation. A 6 foot person standing on the shore can see only 3.1 miles until the curvature of the earth takes over and you can't see beyond it; this is the horizon line. If you get higher over the lake you can see further and objects rising above the lake can be seen; hence I can see the distant lighthouse. Precision requires a dive into Euclidian geometry; a Greek fellow who figured all this out a couple hundred years before year zero; no doubt taught by Jack Ullrich. Ironically present day Greeks could use a refresher course in math in general and 'how to balance a checkbook' in particular. Euclid had his formulas, I have Excel; as the 5 Man Electrical Band says, it's all about sines, sines everywhere co-sines.

The formula for figuring the horizon line is:

DISTANCE TO HORIZON = Square Root of Height above surface in feet divided by .5736.

If you are in a 330 foot tower the horizon is 24 miles away. Standing on 14,400' Longs Peak in Colorado you can see 170 miles to the horizon. Flying in a plane at 33,000 feet the horizon is 214 miles away. You could spot the top of that 70,000 foot cumulo-nimbus cloud stack from 461 miles away. The space shuttle can see 1,543 miles or roughly the entire U.S. landmass. If you are on the moon the horizon line is 220,000 miles away. On the sun your horizon is near limitless though the 10,000 degree temp may hinder your observations (do it at night#!).

How far can the physical light gathering device we call eyes see? Depends on air quality, depends on what you mean by "see". Resolution is another matter. We can see a sign from 2 blocks away but not be able to read it. Yet we can see the Adromeda Galaxy nearly 2.5 light years away (light travels 6 trillion miles a year so Adromeda is abut 15 trillion miles away). But we don't really see it or any object; we see the light reflected from the object. And all of this assumes the earth is perfectly round which it is not; a rapidly rotating sphere bulges at the middle; the Earth's orbit is elliptical, and rotation has a bit of a wobble. All of these pose problems in making a sun dial I can assure you (a visit to our friend Mr. Euclid is in order for this endeavor).

This night is busy with flames from my fire, stars circling the North Star, ore carriers passing by, meteorites, satellites, a quarter moon arcing low in the south over the lake and the constant rhythm of a mellow surf AND it's not 95 degrees with 82 degree dew points. The final morning is sitting on the cliffs, sipping a latte, and experiencing the jump start of Mother Earth. The cool and calm of early morning heats up as late morning takes over. Now it is launch time, from the peace and beauty of nature down the I-state to Metro millions. I stop at Lou's in Two Harbors for some $19 a pound smoked wild salmon and some lake trout. Could probably head down the old highway to Duluth and stop at Russ Kendalls and save a few bucks. But I have a new gig going Monday and the tundra walk along the continental divide will fuel my imagination and anticipation of cool alpine retreats and treats ahead. mef

Cold summer snow
The mountains hear the meadow
I've been waiting for the sunrise
Been waiting so long

Summer solstice passes through the shadows
Thunder rolls in with the fire
I've been waiting for the sun

Warm mountain snow
I'll be reborn in the meadows
I'm waiting for the sun

FIRE BY LAKE

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

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.

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.

LAKE SUPERIOR

I pulled in to Tettegouch tuesday July 22 of '08 about 6:30 and of course the campground was full. Yes all 28 sites. Reality check to DNR, you've invested millions of dollars in trails, campground, visitor center, staffing, how about taking a bulldozer and create a loop and plop down a table and fire ring and in a week you could have 50 more sites. 28 sites, are you kidding me! That park is over 10,000 acres, about the size of Oklahoma. It is 5 times Whitewater or Kipp. They bury the sites a couple miles back in the woods anyway. Hello, I came up to Lake Superior to be near the Lake not in some mosquito infested woods, if I wanted that I'd go out on my deck at home.

LAMBS
At any rate, I'm glad they were full as I motored 20 miles upshore to Lambs resort where I snared one of several open campsites right on the lake. I am down with this resort, even met Mr. Lam, a gentle man with black hoofs. It is a huge resort with a lot of lakeshore, a couple big beaches, the Cross river flows through it (it is located in Schroeder, just past Taconite Harbor). They have about 16 log cabins beach side, then a section with electricity and water for the RV's and then a good 60 campsites, many right on the lake.

The capper is the newly opened Schroeder Baking Company, a log cabin bakery right off Hwy 61 and located on the property. This is some dynamite home cooked chow, I'm talking home made carmel rolls, cherry croissants, maple-pecan rolls, calzone, pizza, P cubed (Personal Pan Pizza), homemade malts, salads, subs, latte's, Kenyon coffee, newspaper, all the necessities of life, the calzone is great. I burned a lot of wood laying by the fire listening to the calm lake lap at the rock beach, watching satellites and meteors cross the sky. I brought back a goodly amount of rocks for the waterfall I'm making. It was like being in the mountains, cool lake breeze and warm sun. Temperance river state park did have a couple openings when I went the 2 miles up the road to check them out the next day.
I hiked up the river and through the woods to Minnesota's 2nd highest peak at 1,550 feet - Carlton Peak, a round trip distance of 7 miles (thought it turned into 8 as I was engaged in thought processes and missed a turn and got onto the Superior Hiking Trail). It lightly rained as I approached the peak so the view wasn't that great, and it rained the way back but it felt good.

I cooked up some blueberry pancakes (wish I remembered the real maple syrup), hashbrowns, and an omellete with fire brewed coffee. Walk the beaches, watch the cumulous storm cells move over Superior, soak in the cool crisp air and warm sun. I came back friday as they were totally full for the weekend. I stopped at Tettegouch to scope the cart in sites, very nice, secluded sites along the red rhyolite cliffs with steep bowl shaped coves and gravel beaches. Bearbox included. Great spot, think I'll head back in fall.

Tribute to my Mom

Family Tribute to Doris

Mom, you allowed us to enjoy carefree childhoods; to just have fun and be kids. A constant among the fun was life lessons that we learned by observing how you and Dad lived your own lives. We learned the value of setting goals and working hard. You were always positive and optimistic, we learned to enjoy the little things that occur each and every day.

We learned the value of honor, dignity, and self respect. You taught us to care and to nuture, to be tolerant and principaled; to hold our head high and persevere in the face of adversity. Mom and Dad are the best parents one could ever hope for; we are very fortunate and thankful.

Mom, you were always thinking of others, making sure everyone else was happy and had what they needed. You passed your fine qualities onto us 7 kids and 11 grandkids. You dedicated your life to your family, you church, and your community.

Mom stands across a green pasture with a powder blue summer sky dotted with white cumulous clouds. A small creek cascades through the farm with the rich black soil set off by a red barn with a yellow limestone foundation. We call to her, she comes to us and looks us in the eye and gives us her love as we clutch her hand and stroke her hair and tell her we love her.

The sun’s light ebbs as dark thunderous clouds march across the June landscape. The sky opens and rain pours onto the surrounding forest, displaying the power of nature and God.
Mom stands in the green pasture on this dark stormy night. We call to her but she does not answer. She turns away and walks across the pasture to a light in the sky. The Lord has called her away.

Mom, you were selfless and courageous and battled to the end. Your strong faith allowed you to put your life in the Lords’ hands. You knew he would take care of you, just as you took care of your family.

Lord, take our Mother into your loving arms. Fill us with peace and understanding to quench the pain of our loss.

JOURNEY's END & NOTES

I was finishing up a walk down the main drag (Elk Avenue)checking out a mining museum, a rock and mineral shop and some clothing, aka souveniers. Crested Butte is a coal mining town, long past it's heyday, now hay pastures and tourists. The Victorian homes build in the late 19th century are painted up in the cliche pastels of violet, maroon, blue, green. One house is sided in license plates. Up the road a few miles is Mt. Crested Butte, the ski center, the fancy shops and where the money people stay. I'll hang in the valley, keeping it real. I buy a shower at the International Hostel, which makes me a tad uneasy after seeing the movie "Hostel". They laughed, but still, isn't it unusual to find a chainsaw atop a bathroom counter.

I took an easy 10 mile drive back to my camp at the Raggeds Wilderness. The thought of another version of "Night of the Grizzlies" at camp was unbearable. I took a side tour at Kebler Pass down a tough road to Ohio Pass, my latte was jumping out of the cup with every rut. I cut a few miles down to get a better look at the cylindrical volcanic Carbon Peak and the Eastern terminus of the Anthracite Range. I spotted my bear buddies a quarter of a mile off in a meadow, with her 2 cubs, they were barely moving. They tumbled and played in the grass. About 10 minutes later Ma was gnawing on a carcus or something. Since bears can smell food 4 miles away they could be back in camp but they seemed pretty content here. Slightly farther down the road I saw the formation called the Castle Peaks, a bunching of eroded volcanic spikes spires and towers. On my way back a caravan of ranch hands had stopped to view the bear. I told them about it's ramblings in the campground 4 miles away. The bears did not make an appearance that night.

After back to back 9 milers I decided to take a day at camp, watching time flow in the form of the sun moving across the sky, giving way to the moon and stars. I crisp 44 degree morning calls for some fire brewed coffee and blueberry pancakes on the Coleman burner. I watch the Ruby range to my right, the Anthracite range to my left, and Lake Irwin below me change in the varying intensity and angles of sunlight. Flower stuffed meadows surround me. I read, I write, do a little 'rithmetic (the 3 R's a perfect complement to a heavy breakfast). I take some short walks to scout out a wildcat hike up to the crest of the rugged Ruby Range for a future visit. Time is nebulous, like Dali's watch draped over a rock, flows like a mountain stream, slowly but always forward. This landscape would be stunning in late Sept with the massive groves of Aspen. Also during mid July when wildflowers peak. Evening light fades like a leaf falling from a tree. Now it is fire and star time, the moon a perfect quarter phase. Calm and quiet, the earth spins on its axis, unheard but not unseen.

GLENWOOD: This is get and go day. Start a coffee fire and shortly roll the slow 40 miles of gravel to the main blacktop artery at the Paonia resevoir. Travel is slow in the mountains. I follow the now subdued Crystal River, the class V rapids now muted with low cfs flows. Into Glenwood and back to camping on the Colorado. Relax and read and write and watch the river and all it conveys. This harmony shattered at regular intervals by 100 car coal trains moving up and down river around a horseshoe bend. The steel wheels doth protest loudly against their steel rail captors, screaming and squeeling in a 110 decimal bursts. At night, I awaken suddenly every time, certain a huge metal shed is collapsing on me. It's cool. But a hot 93 along the low 5k elevations of the river. A batch of thunder and clouds pushes sideways across the canyon throwing down a few cool sprinkles.

STEAMBOAT: Roll the next day the 200 miles north up to Strawberry Springs, a natural hot springs 7 miles up in the moutains out of Steamboat Springs - my launch point for the endurance drive home. Steamboat is less amped, more town but like all places in Colorado, busy with Front Rangers on the weekends. I grab some dyno calzone and salad at Cugzino's. Make the requisite stop at "Off the Beaten Path", a hip bookstore/coffee shop/bakery/micro cafe. I see by the sign on the door this year that the health codes have caught up with them, dogs are no longer welcome in the store. A cold front is moving in bringing clouds and sprinkles. I eat my chow in the Olympic ski jump/rodeo/baseball grounds.

A couple hour soak in near sulpher free hot springs is the ticket. This year they have built a huge stone fireplace by the pools, must be 15 feet tall. Not many people here. I read and relax at my cabin heating up some sweet treats on the grill, sipping a little cherry wine and chasing it with a sweet Colorado peach. Tomorrow is roll time

HOME: A quick soak and then roll to Steamboat to get the early pickings of a blueberry creame cheese croissant. I'm off on a 15 hour straight drive through with 5 stops for chow or petro. Over the Volcanic towers at Rabbit Ears Pass, 40 miles of the best hay in the world in North Park into Walden and up and over the mountains into Laramie. The Laramie Fly Shop summarizes Wyoming well, here you can get gas, trout flys, liquor, guns, ammo, and cigarettes - pretty all a real man of the west needs, and a can of chew to go eh.
Grab I25 to Orin Junction, the last outpost of civilization until the Black Hills. I see a cloud bank some 50 miles off to the NE. 50 miles later I see a gray sheet coming down from the sky to the ground. Suddenly I am driving through a dark sheet of water, can barely see, slow down to 20 mph, the wipers can't clear the water, it gets near black, minutes later I drive out of the intensity into clear skies. The Hills do have intense summer T-storms. Eventually make my way to I90 and the never ending clack clack of strips of highway, fortunately I sleep through most of it. Just kidding, I am pilot, copilot, and chief entertainer on this trip. Telephone poles change to miles change to haystacks change to county lines turns to Minnesota. Day turns to night. Moths and grasshoppers coat the windshield oblivious to my annoyance at the degree to which they hinder my vision. This isn't NASCAR but you don't waste a pit stop to scrape 2" of guts off your windshield. You combine the gas up, bat room, coffee, bug scraping, and chow into a mega pit stop. Tick, tick, time is running; in and out in 15 minutes, a pretty relaxing stop, but then I did wash my hands too. Finally the I35 road north to Minneapolis, I do plan on making a right turn well before the "bridge", or the bridge that was. Through the old digs of Owatonna into the burbs and hello house and home. I pour myself out of the seat, feel a bit like I spent the night in a washing machine. Now if I could turn that washing machine into a time machine I would travel back in time 2 weeks and redo my vacation!

NOTES & OBSERVATIONS:

COLORADO: Outside of California, Colorado is the most diverse and beautiful state (sand dunes, gunnison canyon, mountains, Colo Plateau desert, etc). I'd move to Colorado but then I'd have to get 2 dogs and become a handyman.

WOOD & FIRE: I carry lots of wood with me, usually red oak from our family cabin up north. No, it is not like carrying coals to Newcastle or taking beer to Wisconsin. This wood burns slow with little smoke, has high BTU, coals out beautifully and leaves little ash. Aspen & Pine native to Colorado, opposite. The wood fire is the center of the hive, the crux of all, I cook with it, keep warm by it, write by it, and provides the spiritual lift under a starry sky. Does it dissuade Bears, I don't know, if you don't have any food out I'd say sure.

LANTERNS: One last rant on this. IF you must shine high powered lights at night, consider casting an amber spectrum light. You really don't need high amps unless you are running a watch repair business out of your campsite or experimenting with nanobot technology.

RMM: One of my favorite punching bags. RMM is the outsource firm the Forest Service uses to collect camping fees and "run" the campgrounds. I'd say they're doing an outstanding job in taking money and not investing 1 dime into the camping facilities. I believe RMM (Rocky Mountain Mismanagement) is bilking us users out of our money. There is no excuse for not having bear proof dumpsters. It would be like storing your sugar outside and being surprised that ants are getting in it. They seem to think an outhouse should last as long as the Washington monument. I've seen some foundations eaten away by termites and mice to the point of toppling. Come on, have the road graded once a year. Could the campsites possibly be any more unlevel. How hard is it to make the driveway level, when the grader grades the road you could do a basic blading of the the worst campsite drives. Some are at such an angle I feel like I'm at Cape Canaveral. How about a refund for unused nights. They didn't seem to mind keeping all the money of the people who bailed out because of the bears, and then shamelessly double collect when a newbie moves into the site (that would be me). What I'm saying is, don't manage things like the government.

Keep it real. I will be travelling, up to Lake Superior, down the Mississippi for fall leaf peeping and camping trips. Stay tuned.

NOTES, OBSERVATIONS

Coffee house, library, I get booted off my portal so here is another installment. Heading back down to Glenwood for one night then up to Steamboat at a cabin at Strawberry Hot Springs. Natural hot springs are better than the block long springs in Glenwood. Soaked there for a couple hours and came out rubber man.

COWS: Cows were on the trail and a teen gal was afraid to pass. At least they weren't Texas Longhorns. It's a cow not a coyote, moos are mellow. Never heard of a cow that killed someone, unless it was at McDonalds. The wilderness group that hiked through there wouldn't have had to treat the water if cows hadn't polluted the entire valley. Like the Grand Canyon where their regulation is that hikers scoop and bag their poop. Hello, I won't stoop that low, bag pooches poop sure, but not my own. Especially since the entire water supply is pretty much contaminated by ice cream bucket sized loads of poop dropped by the mules. Poop and flies in the grand canyon, great way to treat it.

RADIO: Satellite was invented for the west. I listen to a book on tape and music but like to change it up. I feel great if I can pull in the in your face Dr. Laura (hey, people that stupid need to be treated rudely), the wind bag we know as Rush Linbaugh (everthing is always rosy if your the right wing), and Air America for those late drives on the I-state.

LANTERNS: Are lanterns and 500 watt flashlights really necessary when camping. They limit your field of vision to the perimeter of the light. Humans have marginal night vision because we have great color vision, rods & cones my boy. We have lots of cones to see color and rods see luminense i.e. light. But we can see if you give your eyes 20 minutes to adjust. With even an 1/8th moon and starlight you can function quite well. I saw a huge light out of the corner of my eye camping in Rocky Mtn N.P., I assumed it was the headlight of a car, it was the brightest biggest lantern I had ever seen. I assumed the hubby was behind her hauling a car battery. Caveman knows that red light does not destroy your night vision. I believe the red/orange spectrum emitted by a campfire does not destroy your night vision. I think our eyes evolved that way from caveman with fire. Being able to see at night is important to a caveman. Lights attract bugs and limit your vision. Do NOT use them around kids.

CRESTED BUTTE: I have never seen any town with a speed limit of 15 m.p.h. It reflects the pace of life here as well. People are on perpetual check out here, resort town, skiiers, bikers, dreamers. I have to head to town like the old pioneer cowboys: supplies, booze, and women except I get supplies, slices, and newspapers.

PEOPLE: I like people, I just don't like to hang around them.

CRESTED BUTTE

When the heat tops 95 degrees I jump into the Colorado's cool 60 degree waters to cool down, sit in the shade and watch the river and trains flow through the canyon. I'm now off to Lake Irwin in the RAGGEDS Wilderness in the White River National Forest near Crested Butte. At 10,300' this is one of the highest developed campsites in the United States. Colorado is in their monsoon season which typically starts around mid August until the onset of Autumn in mid Sept. Days are warm with clouds building into hit and miss rain by afternoon with some errant lightning here and there. Nights clear off and are usually in the high 40's.

My first night a mama black bear brings her 2 cubs through the camp and around the back of my camp. That night was full of dumpster clanking and banging and fierce growling and screaming for a long time, several times. So I am told, I slept through it all some how so was the only camper with a rested night. Most of the campers around me bailed. I was so tired from staying up to 3 a.m. watching meteors and getting up at sunrise. I did find a big pile of bear scat in my campsite. The next night, more of the same, unnerving. Bears are getting into houses in town as well. Blame it on late freeze and then drought, drying up their food supply. I am nearest the dumpsters, about 50 feet.

HIKE TO GREEN LAKE: This is a magical landscape. I wildcarded a hike up the Ruby Range up to tree line where Eden greeted me. The landscape is vivid colors, shapes, and textures - the base of great nature photography. A long waterfall cascaded 200 feet off purple cliffs interspersed with flower laden meadows, blue lupine, white daisies, lupine, red paintbrush among many others. Bees and white butterflies with blue and red circles on their wings fluttered about. As a backdrop Purple Mountain rose above snowfields and vast avalanch slopes to an alternating cloudy and blue sky. This is at tree line so crooked spruce and fir struggled against the elements here. Walking up in elevation is like walking back in time. Summer becomes spring as snow melts, flowers bloom, and birds nest. Clouds moved over the mountain giving scant warning of impending weather. Sun alternated with dark cloud patches, rain, sun, hail, rain, sun. It is real wildcard.

I descend and get camp around for night of the bears, part 3. The clouds dissapate as my fire roars with flashlights at the ready. The forest service could wise up and put bear proof dumpsters in here instead of these artifacts from the '60's. In fact it wouldn't hurt them to invest a buck or two in here and maybe grade the 2.8' "road" every couple years or so. The camp host wired the dumpsters shut which frustrated the bear that showed up about midnight. Off it went among tents, campers, people screaming, raided a screen tent with cooler, scared the hell out of a couple of Mel Gibson post apocolyptic dirt bike riders who converted a school bus into their living and gear quarters. The bear went up the ramp they used to load their dirt bikes and had his nose pressed against the window. Many more people left the next day, but here I am, 50 feet from the dumpster.

OH-BE-JOYFUL hike: A high pressure ridge moved over Colorado bringing all day blue skies. I took an 8 mile round tripper up the Joyful canyon which is cut by the Slate River. It was a mellow hike, waterfalls, meadows, flowers, pines, marmots, pikas, and cows (later). This led to the bowl or cirque of a lake where mountains surrounded me on all sides. Sunny warm day. The Nat Forest allows cows in this "wilderness". I have a beef with that. Hanging in Crested Butte, just gearing down.