~
Friday, June 18,
Flying out of Syracuse at 6:00 a.m. is really different,
especially on such a cloudy day.
Soft rain started to fall just before we reached the
airport, and as our small jet lifted off,
the mist slowly dissolved right before my eyes. We burst
into a brilliantly lit blue sky with
nothing but white below. Vanilla ice cream, pale pink
cotton candy, mounds of freshly whip-
ped cream; the cloudscape looked just like sugary foods
full of cloying full-fat goodness.
There were occasional pillars of white towering far above
the base level. Cloudboats of
palest grey scuttled along at a good clip, occasionally
enveloping the small aircraft with
thin wisps of feathery ether. We flew out of the front
just before we began the approach
into Cincinnati. Vineyards and orchards gave way to
suburban tracts laid out along ser-
pentine cul-de-sacs. Just before we landed, the plane
banked sharply and the Ohio River
came into view. The landing was exceptionally smooth for
such a small plane. I boarded
a larger jet and flew over Kentucky; beautiful fields
indeed looked blue from a mile high in
the sky. We followed the Mississippi River for a short
time, and passed over some beauti-
ful dark green rolling mountains. The land outside of
Dallas is very flat and full of bare fields.
Irrigation ditches crisscross the area, and grain
elevators resemble aspirin tablets scatter-
ed here and there on a tabletop. There was a four hour
stopover in Dallas. I got a good
view of dozens of planes of all sizes taking off, one
right after the other, some big ones
ascending at nosebleed angles with amazing speed. The
final leg of my journey into Color-
ado Springs was on a very small jet. We flew over tons of
irrigated farmland, then all of a
sudden there was nothing below except for sand and scrub.
We passed over millions of
acres of uninhabited space, no buildings or roads, and no
water visible from the air. In the
wink of an eye we were back at farmland, massive ranches
with dwellings few and far be-
tween. We passed into a storm front and were tossed about
like a child’s toy on our de-
scent. Colorado Springs is larger than I had imagined,
spread out for miles in every direc-
tion. It was great to finally arrive, after an entire day
of hurry up and wait. We drove through
miles of heavy traffic as we headed north out of town.
Huge sandstone boulders loomed
along the roadside, and signs pointed the way to The
Garden of the Gods. We crossed
the Rocky Mountains at Cottonwood Pass, a slender highway
of twisted hairpin turns and
breathtaking views. There was enough snow at the top of
the pass (12124 feet altitude) to
allow one quick snowboard run before beginning the steep
descent down the other side.
The eastern portion of the road is paved; the western
side is not. It is narrow and riddled
with washboard with barely room for two vehicles to pass.
The turns were so tight that we
kept coming to the same view again and again, yet it
seemed brand new each time. It had
been raining all day on Colorado’s Western Slope,
but as we passed into the valley the sun
burst through the storm clouds with the added brilliance
that altitude lends. The whole state
has been under severe drought conditions for three years;
today’s rain is indeed just a drop
in the bucket, but things are beginning to green up. The
view here is vastly different from that
on Tug Hill. It is hard to believe it all exists under
the same sky. As you read this, look up.
No matter where you are on this Earth, you and I share
the sky at this moment.
There is enough to go around.
~
Saturday, June 19
There is nothing more blue than the Rocky Mountain sky on
a sunny summer day.
It is such an intense hue that few things in nature can
compare with it. On Tug Hill we will
occasionally see a small bit of Colorado sky-blue flash
from tree to tree; it is an indigo
bunting, bluer than blue and seldom perching in one place
long enough to afford a good
look at its brilliance. Eastern bluebirds come close to
that same shade, but not glowing
quite as much. Mountain bluebirds are common out here,
about the same size as the ea-
stern variety but lacking the orange breast. People put
up nesting boxes for them and their
population has increased in the last decade. Magpies are
abundant in this small mining
town, strutting cockily through the streets, standing
their ground in front of pedestrians, bikes,
and cars. Their early morning greeting is similar to that
of crows, but higher pitched and
more insistent. I spent most of this beautiful afternoon
at a sidewalk stand watching tourists
come and go, Texans with big hats and big fanny packs...
I’ll leave it up to you to decide
which noun the second big modifies... This town
draws a diverse crowd, including young
yuppie couples with 1.4 children, lean tanned mountain
bikers and rafters, wealthy retirees,
and kind young folk who camp by the river all summer and
live simply, washing dishes or
bussing tables, earning enough to get by for a while.
There is little traffic through the narrow
streets; all is close enough to visit on foot or on a fat-tire
one-speed townie bike. It is a town
of big dogs and lovely flower gardens, tiny lawns and
rustic fences. The old part of town is
a page out of history, old-time saloons and cafes full of
home cooking, chicken-fried
steak and hearty sandwiches. It is a good place to visit.
~
Sunday, June 20,
Today is summer solstice. What better way to celebrate
than to hop in a 1973 VW Bus
with a bunch of friends and drive to the top of the world.
We headed up Washington Gulch,
surrounded by meadows full of larkspur, columbine,
sunflowers, and countless smaller vivid
blooms. A grey fox with red patches here and there kept
pace with us for a while. When we
passed through a small forest, a cinnamon bear bounded
off through the trees. At one point
the jeep trail was so steep that all but the driver had
to get out and walk for a while, a (literally)
breath-taking task for this flatlander at 11000 feet
above sea level. We stopped at a high
meadow with tall peaks all around. It was very late in
the day and the sun’s rays snuck
around crags and through crannies to shine on us on this
longest day of the year. The trail
continued on to Paradise Divide, but we turned left and
began our descent down the steep
switchbacks of the Slate River Pass. We coasted down in
neutral with the engine off and
snuck up on dozens of mule deer grazing in newly emerging
grass. Heavy rain over the
weekend has really brought vegetation out in the
foothills. We surprised a brand new fawn
who dropped quickly to ground in an effort to become
invisible. Mule deer are larger than
our eastern whitetails, with longer ears and hefty racks.
We saw several bucks with big
spreads still enrobed in velvet. As we neared the valley
floor the sun finally set and the
mountains were backlit by massive clouds with hot pink
edges. The purple hour seemed
to last forever and stars popped out one at a time. By
midnight the sky was alive with
celestial objects, both real and imagined. A slice of
moon led the way back home,
home for this week anyway.
~
Monday, June 21
Much-needed rain fell off and on all day and the
temperature stayed in the sixties. It was
a good day to laze around indoors, watch a little
television, and doze. Truly, this is vaca-
tioning at it’s most elemental! But enough of that;
we hopped on bikes and rode to the
frisbee golf course on the outskirts of town, where an
old strip mining site has been con-
verted into a playground. A hockey rink and skate park
flank the entrance to the course.
Tee-off takes place between two stone cairns and the goal
is a metal basket two feet off
the ground with vertical chains hung all around as a
backdrop. You are supposed to re-
bound your flying disc into the basket by aiming for the
chains. The game is played by
using a small hard disc at tee-off, one that will fly far.
After several tries, a larger disc is
used to sink the putt. Imagine the usual hazards found at
a country club for standard golf;
then add the fol-lowing: streams, old mine shafts,
boulders, scrub brush, nettles, dog/
coyote/deer/elk/cow/horse poop, loose scree, and steep
slopes. My disc never went
where it was aimed, due to wind, rain, and my total lack
of experience. Luckily, we
didn’t keep score, and I had plenty of help locating
my wandering frisbee. There were
lots of small coal pieces all over the ground along with
slate and sandstone, making a
crazy mosaic to scramble over. Orange arnica blossoms
dotted the hillside and several
species of lupine carpeted the wooded sections of the
course. Magpies stayed close,
waiting for the crumbs that humans sometimes carelessly
drop. The weather cleared at
the end of the day, so we took the dogs out for a walk
along the lower loop of a mountain
bike trail. We came very close to two large mule deer,
bucks with black velvet antlers.
They bounded away like gazelles, springing aloft on all
four feet at once, the very defini-
tion of grace in motion. We watched the sun disappear
behind the mountains, and caught
a moment of alpenglow, with the very edge of the range
outlined in brilliant white light for
just an instant. When the sun goes down in the Colorado
Rockies, the heat of the day
goes with it. My sandaled feet quickly got icy cold in
the wet grass. The house was warm
and redolent with the small of onion-rich meatloaf which
we had popped into the oven
before our hike. It was a fine day, a perfect blend of
nuthin’ special and plenty to do.
~
Tuesday, June 22
I am on the porch with a cookie and a cup of
coffee, recalling yesterday’s fun and
watching other early risers pass by. Most of the local
folks ride bikes or walk as they
go about their morning errands. This is a resort town and
we see many license plates
from Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. Things will pick up
in the next few days, as the
town is hosting a five-day mountain bike festival with
events both on the mountain and
in town. If I want to visit any local shops, it had
better be today. Later: It is early evening
and the sun is still impossibly bright. There is not a
cloud in the sky and it is warm enough
to stroll through town without a jacket. I stopped at a
greenhouse, and many herbs and
plants that we take for granted (basil, for example) will
not survive the drastic temperature
changes that occur at 8880 feet, even in midsummer. I
bought a hardy daisy plant and a
lovely vetch-like perennial wildflower called
jacob’s ladder to plant in my host’s garden,
which is mostly mint and sunflowers. We are not sure if
hollyhocks will do well here, but I
will send some seeds out after I return home. Gardens are
abloom right now with poppies
(oriental, california, and icelandic) lilacs, columbine,
lupine, and bachelor’s buttons.
Only certain vegetables can be grown here, all that is
planted outdoors must be
frost-resistant. Oddly enough, this area is famous for
its wide variety of wildflowers,
and early July brings people from all over the country to
admire hillsides
and high meadows full of color.
~
Wednesday, June 23
We drove for hours through scrubby acres of nothing but
dust and sage,
accented here and there by red paintbrush and white
locoweed. We finally arrived
at the head of a canyon cut by a swiftly flowing stream.
We set up tents and headed
downstream over trails marked by signs of deer, antelope,
elk, and cattle. We fished
as we hiked, occasionally pulling in a nice brown trout,
none of which was legal to keep,
according to the State of Colorado. We hoped to hook a
plump native brookie or two for
supper, but no luck for us... good luck for the fish.
There are many beautiful streamside
flowers, blue flag and yellow potentilla, butter-and-eggs,
and small wooly purple fluffballs.
The stream has large patches of shiny green weed with
small white flowers poking just
above the surface of the water. Scree and big boulders
line the canyon with sheer cliffs
atop it all. We covered about a mile of meanders, then
fished our way back to the
campsite, gathering driftwood as we walked. Some variety
of small insect
hatched just before sunset, and trout were leaping out of
the water to feed.
Three black hawks were swooping low over the stream, but
it was
hard to tell if they were hunting fish or insects.
Sunset was amazing ! Clouds of every color under the sun
were swirling
above canyon walls to the east, and radiant neon pink
hovered above the
western horizon. We enjoyed a late cowboy supper of
smoked sausage
and beans, well seasoned by appetite and fragrant
driftwood smoke.
~
Thursday June 24
Two cowboys, four horses, and five ranch dogs splashed
through the stream
at dawn and woke us up. After a restless chilly night
full of visions of bears, cougars,
coyotes and flash floods, it was good to see the sun. A
mountain bluebird sat on top
of a craggy cliff, occasionally swooping to another perch
to peck up a tidbit. Later, we
broke camp and drove along some twisty switchbacks,
stopping at the edge of a rutted
jeep trail. We hiked about a mile to a narrow game path
descending into a small canyon.
The stream at the bottom ran swift and clear with lush
green grass along the banks. My
companions had caught brook trout here in the past, and
conditions seemed good for
making a similar haul today. We spread out and I caught
zilch (my favorite!) and the men-
folk brought back reports of monster fish, but they had
released them all. I was footsore
from hiking on rocks for two days, and sat for a while
waiting for rabbits to appear from
any of the dozens of warren holes that dotted the
hillside. Lots of holes, no bunnies. The
canyon floor was littered with bone piles, picked clean
by scavengers and bleached
ultra white in the sun; most appeared to be deer. The
hike out was a hot one, and all
water bottles were empty by the time we reached the car.
The drive back to civilization
left an airborne trail of alkaline dust that took a while
to settle. A single antelope checked
us out as we passed, then turned and gracefully bounded
away through the sage. Part of
the highway went through some high craggy red rock cliffs,
and a bighorn sheep stood
atop a ridge for an instant, then moseyed off behind a
ledge. A bald eagle swooped
across the gap, harassed by two ravens. There is so much
to see in this alien land, as
different from Tug Hill as the moon. Still, much is
similar; tall yellow sweet clover
sways along the roadsides, and a rose is still a rose,
even here at the top of the world.
~
Friday June 25
A mountain bike festival has filled this small town with
people from all over
the west. Serious single track and downhill racers will
compete on some of the
gnarliest trails in the country. Meanwhile, in the center
of town, outlandishly costumed
local crazies participate in log-pulling contests,
bicycle limbo, and trials riding over ob-
stacle courses. At day’s end the sky became ominous
with black clouds rushing over the
mountain. Soon hailstones were pelting down, followed by
thunder, lightning, and torrents
of icy rain. The streets which had been teeming with
humanity and a lot of big dogs sud-
denly became as empty as those of a ghost town. Water
soaked into the thirsty earth as
quickly as it fell, and big puddles formed on the tarmac.
Standing water is a rarity on the
Western Slope, and when the storm was finally over, kids,
dogs, and adults alike gleefully
splashed in the puddles. The clouds never entirely
dispersed, and sunset over the moun-
tains came and went in between dark masses of grey. The
glimpses of color were brief
but brilliant. Although I have spent most evenings during
this visit on the porch, I have
not yet heard any coyotes greeting the night. Perhaps as
the moon waxes toward
full the packs will return to the nearby hills.
~
Saturday June 26
It rained all night off and on and the dark clouds
finally scudded away towards mid-
morning. We headed up Taylor Canyon to do a little more
trout fishing. On Tug Hill,
just about anything will bite at a worm on a hook.
Colorado fishing law prohibits live
bait in most streams, so I have been trying my luck with
various artificial lures. Fly fish-
ing is tricky, so I have been using a spinning rod. We
squished the barb at the end of
the hooks flat with pliers, so it is easy to release the
fish that we catch. Taylor River is
strictly catch-and-release, which was not a problem for
us today. Although a highway
runs next to it, the river is very beautiful; recent rain
has filled it to brimming and many
rafters floated by us as we fished. The banks are lined
with wild roses, currently in full
bloom. We traveled off the beaten path to some small
reservoirs, but the fish were keep-
ing out of our way there too. Our last stop was Spring
Creek, a scenic brook that des-
cends through a craggy pass. Finally, I caught two fat
rainbows and a brook trout. All
three fish released themselves just before I landed them,
sparing themselves the trauma
of human touch. As we descended the rutted dirt road back
to civilization, we stopped
to admire a big mountain goat, pure white and shaggy. He
looked back at us for a while,
then disappeared behind a crag. Sporadic rain fell, and
at one point big chunks of ice
splattered the windshield. An hour after sunset, the
clouds finally disappeared and
stars were everywhere, over a mile closer to me than at
home.
~
Sunday June 27
A sunny, rainy, hot, cold, cloudy, totally vacation-y day.
I think I will take a vacation from writing as well.
~
Monday June 28
A beautiful blue sky morning greeted us with a hint of
fog at the top
of the mountains. We had a long drive ahead of us, south
through Gunnison
and then through the Rocky Mountains via Monarch Pass.
The road was in great
shape, all paved, a nice contrast to the rough dirt trail
through Cottonwood Pass
ten days ago. As we drove out of Gunnison, bright scarlet
cactus flowers dominated
much of the landscape. Prickly pear cactus were loaded
with creamy yellow blossoms,
to be followed soon by the tart and tasty fruit that
gives the plant its name. The highway
was very twisty with many switchbacks and hair-raising
cliff. We passed a spot where a
lumber truck had gone through a guard rail on an outside
corner; workmen tossed 2x4s
back up onto the roadside. We drove next to the Arkansas
River for quite a stretch, and
saw plenty of rafts making their way down the rapids,
some of which are class five, very
scary. At Pinnacle Rock we had a chance to check out some
cactus close up. The gor-
geous red flowers were alive with bees, but the sharp
barbed spines kept us far enough
away that we couldn’t detect any fragrance. Along
with these exotic plants were some
that were more familiar; grapevine, milkweed, and poison
ivy ran rampant. We climbed
on a few rocks to get a better view of the river and
spied a fat trout hovering under a
ledge close to shore. A little farther on down the river
a bighorn sheep rested on a ledge,
horns curling back, golden tan against bright red rocks.
As we neared Colorado Springs
we passed thousands of row houses, all identical. There
is a huge military base here.
In fact, the beautiful mountain just opposite the
military housing tract is where a huge
supply of nuclear weapons is currently stored. There are
many things that are scarier
than plummeting through class five rapids in a rubber
raft; at least that is adventure
of one’s own choosing. In matters of national
defense, the power is in the hands of
just a few individuals. As we passed that arsenal covered
with wildflowers,
I felt absolutely helpless and small.
It was a rude awakening to end this trip in such a place,
after a week and a half of ineffable beauty. Fortunately,
the wonderful memories I will hold close far outweigh
the unease I encountered on the final day of my journey.
Early to bed; there’s a plane to catch at sunrise,
taking me home to my family and critters on beautiful Tug
Hill.
~
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