Share Your Hike

Gemstones

2008-04-08T18:56:00.000-07:00

Journal Entry Twenty three: Gemstones in the Valley

The Arkansas River valley is also provides a surprising wealth of natural gemstones. Mt. Antero is one of the 14ners, 14,269ft. and number ten on the list of over fourteen thousand feet mountains in Colorado. It is located between the towns of Buena Vista and Salida. It was first prospected in the late 1800’s, as were mot of the rest of the mountains in the state. Most men were after gold at that time, but what they found here mostly were aquamarine crystals, beautiful sky blue to sea green colored variety of gem beryl. Another interesting note is that all known gem deposits here occur above timberline, making this mountain the highest known gem locality in the United States. The aquamarine occurs in pockets or bubbles in the granite rock. There are both patented and un-patented mining claims in the area, but most of the land is considered open for hand-digging. Mt. White, one of the off peaks of Mt. Antero is seeing renewed activity as new mining claims have occurred since a large aquamarine was found by a man named Steve Broncato. He found his own large pocket of aquamarine crystals, which would up totaling somewhere around 2,000 of them. Steve filed a claim there and in the summer can usually be found there camping in the high country to protect his claim. He later found the largest aquamarine ever discovered there and sold it, I was told for a very impressive amount.

There are a lot of other gemstones to be found besides the aquamarine; jasper, topaz, smoky quartz, turquoise, amethyst, and lapis lazuli.

Hagerman Tunnel

2008-04-01T15:51:00.000-07:00

Journal Entry: Twenty three, Hagerman Tunnel Hike

This is one of the hikes we repeat every year because we enjoy it so. My hiking buddies and I always marvel at how we never grow tired or bored with some of the repeatable hikes. This is one of them. This is also a generously climbing rail bed that crosses the Continental Divide. This hike is labeled easy and is 5.5 miles round trip. This tunnel was the highest railroad tunnel in the world at the time of its completion in 1887 and it was 2,161ft. in length. The tunnel itself sits at an altitude of 11,528 ft. This hike starts on Hagerman Pass road, very near Turquoise Lake outside of Leadville. The trail of to the tunnel follows the old railroad grade for part of the way. The beginning is a wet trek, stepping over old embedded railroad ties that still lie there. This was the Colorado Midland Railroad that was the first standard gauge railroad to traverse the Colorado Rockies. This venture though, like many others like it, was never profitable and did not last long. The hike ascends into an old ghost town, Douglass City. It is not really a town anymore, just remnants of it with signs posted that describe what life was like then. This settlement was mostly full of the Italian workers who built the railroad. It was a very vivacious community with eight saloons, a dance hall, and a post office. From Douglass City you climb up about 0.5 miles where you will reach the Hagerman Tunnel. One of the interesting things about this train tunnel is that the entrance is still open. Hikers can walk right up to the mouth of the huge tunnel. There is however, a large “glacier” or sheet of solid ice that covers the bottom flooring. This sheet of ice looks like it is about six feet deep and the top layer is a snowy, slush.

It is obvious that at this altitude, this ice never melts. Jazz, walked into the opening as far as she could go and exited with her shirt front full of snowballs she had created and started to pummel us all with them. We of course, responded in return, and picked them up to toss at her and continue the fight. When was the last time you had a snow ball fight in the middle of July?

ATV's

2008-03-28T20:05:00.000-07:00

Journal Entry: Twenty two, ATV’s

Make no mistake about it; I like to ride on my red ATV with the white lady bug decal firmly implanted on the right fender. I love the feel of the wind in my face and the experience of that raw, vibrating engine between my legs. But, I have found out the hard way that I cannot keep up with the men on high country, very steep, climbing enormous boulders, ATV excursions. No matter what we say, most women do not have the upper body strength to fight the bouncing and jarring handle bars of an ATV as it climbs a high country pass.

Take my word for it, those ATV’s will flip and go tumbling down rocky gullies in the flash of an eye. But anyway, this is still another wonderful way to experience summertime in the mountains. In my opinion, this is one way that the non-hiker can join in the experience of the real high country. There are a lot of places in the valley to rent an ATV, or a jeep, or a similar vehicle.

On the other hand, several of my friends have co-founded a group named the Quiet Use Coalition (QUC). Noise pollution is their greatest concern. They ascertain that places of quiet are becoming more and more difficult to find in Colorado. Most Americans live in urban areas. They further state that the places sought to escape noise; natural and undeveloped open spaces, forests and wilderness areas, have been recently invaded by an explosive growth of personal motorized recreational vehicles. They are correct with this. But since I like to do both, hike in the quiet hushed high country; I also like to ride my ATV. I propose that we find a way to live harmoniously so we can all enjoy the beautiful outdoors of Colorado.

Fly Fishing

2008-03-11T16:21:00.000-07:00

Journal Entry: Twenty One, Fly Fishing

There are more numerous sites to fly fish in Colorado, than there is time to name, my Amateur/Professional Fly Fisherman son informs me. The Denver Post now rates the Arkansas River as one of the state’s best places to fish for brown trout. The Arkansas River provides some of the best brown trout fishing in the west.

The Arkansas starts just north of Leadville. The first 150 miles of the river, from Leadville to Pueblo, is prime trout water. Conditions vary widely along this section so the river is broken up into 4 sections; Leadville to Buena Vista, Buena Vista to Salida, Salida to Canon City, Canon City to Pueblo. The Arkansas drops over 5000 feet in elevation over this 150 mile stretch from Leadville to Pueblo. The Arkansas boasts high catches of browns and rainbows up to 20 inches. The brown trout and the sea trout are fish of the same species. They are distinguished chiefly by the fact that the brown trout is largely a freshwater fish, while the sea trout shows anadromous reproduction, migrating to the oceans for much of its life and returning to freshwater only to spawn. The high dietary reliance upon insect larvae, pupae, nymphs and adults is what allows trout to be a favored target for fly fishing.

The spring and summer are prime seasons for the voracious mackinaw, the larger species of trout found here. But early spring is one of the most eagerly awaited seasons for fly fishermen in that the caddis fly is hatching and the trout literally go crazy, swarming to be the first to dine on them.

Just being a spectator of fly fishermen and fisherwomen, one witnesses a beautiful showing of

elegance and serenity. There is a hushed expectancy, as the fisher people, ceremoniously arc

their colorful lines high over their heads and suddenly cast their flies into the fresh water

hoping to see the mouth of a trout jump out of the cold liquid river to meet them. I have

learned that this type of fishing is not for the person who wants to bring home a large cache of

fish fillets. A large amount of Colorado is catch and release.

Most people are standing in the rushing river with their hip waders on for the serene experience. This is not a team sport with high fives and a lot of loud locker room banter.

This sport takes a person with patience, who appreciates the quiet, serene beauty of being in attendance with Mother Nature, not to take from her, but to join her.

Valley Restaurants

2008-03-06T19:36:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry Twenty: Restaurants in the valley

There are a surprising amount of excellent eating establishments in the Arkansas River valley. Eating out is a favorite form of socialization in the valley. What I like a lot is the relaxed atmosphere you can find at all establishments; unlike the rushed and always hurried “soccer mom” mentality found in large cities. A word of advice; don’t ever get in-between a rushed mom and her mission of getting her prodigy to a sporting event on time. This woman knows her personal player is the only thing sent from God that can save the team, so she takes her mission to heart. Anyway, most eateries in the Arkansas River valley subscribe to the “no worries” attitude found in most of Colorado. No one will hurry you to finish and leave. Slow, leisurely eating, good libations, and interesting conversation are what is on the menu every night. You can find a complete list of restaurants on this website: www.arnaksasvalleyliving.com.

My current personal favorite place to eat is Laughing Ladies in Salida. This is a gourmet food restaurant. The owner/chef moved to Salida with his wife from Ft. Worth, Texas. He has an infectious smile with little squinty eyes and deep dimples. One of his favorite stories to regal his guests with is the story of why he named the restaurant Laughing Ladies. The street his place in on is located just one block from the raging Arkansas River and is row houses with upper apartments. The miners would come into town in the 1800’s and rent one of the rooms “for the hourly” rate. Thus, there were a lot of “laughing ladies” who resided in the upper apartments.

You will find this restaurant on the lower level of one of those apartment houses and if you listen real closely, you might hear the ghost of one of the laughing ladies. Gerard’s favorite dinner to order is the roast duck. Duck is very hard to cook and keep moist and tasty. The chef here says the secret is to never freeze the meat. He claims that freezing duck causes it to be dry and tough. I believe him.

Mother's Bistro

2008-02-27T18:36:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry Nineteen: Mothers Bistro

The newest gathering place in Buena Vista is Mothers Bistro. They boast of having “light” fare, so if you are craving a hot, chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, and pie a la mode, Mothers is not your place. But if you are hungry mostly for rich, friendly conversation in an outdoor courtyard, under a cool Aspen tree, this is the place for you. In the evenings during the summer weekends there are a lot of intimate, interesting musical entertainers to be found here. My hiking buddy/concert pianist’s husband has been known to frequent here and grace us with his stunning playing of his flute. Their daughter is also a regular here with her rich, warm cello. One of the more unusual set of nightly entertainers though, played a variety of unique instruments. This husband - wife team were a part of the local farmers in town. They have a small farm where the locals love to order fresh cow’s milk, yogurt, butter, and various vegetable and fruits. But, unlike the rest of us, their evening entertainment is to sit around the farm and sing and play instruments together. This night he played several instruments. One was a delightful white Aspen didgjouridou. This is an Australian instrument that is usually four to five feet in length and cylindrical in appearance. It is commonly spelt ‘didgeridoo’ and is called a yidaki of the local Aboriginal people in Northern Australia where it originated. It has been part of the Aboriginal culture for thousands of years.

What makes this device unique is how hard it is to play. The musician must use circular breathing, which is very hard to learn. This ‘circular breathing’ is a technique in which the mouth cavity is filled with air and closed at the soft palate to sustain the sound while a quick breath is taken in through the nose. This process allows for the sound of the instrument to be continuous. This man also played the fiddle sticks on the neck of the banjo his wife was playing. It took a lot of courage and trust on her part, as his fiddle sticks came dangerously close to her nimble fingers. The one instrument he played that I had never seen was called a Limber Goose.

This was a wooden musical instrument which consists of a goose with loose joints on the end of a long stick, the legs of which the performer causes to tap rhythmically on a thin wooden board as if clogging. There are different versions also, instead of a limber goose. Sometimes you may see a limber jack, or limber horse or a raggedy man. These are all percussion instruments used in folk music to tap out rhythms, often played with old-time string band music. The realistic dancing motions produced by these instruments were a pre-cursor to “clogging”, both of which are popular dance styles in the Appalachian region.

Stevie and the Rough Riders

2008-02-18T15:26:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry: Eighteen, Stevie and the Rough Riders

One of my Texas neighbors, Stevie, is a weekend warrior bike enthusiast. That means he and his band of merry friends are bankers, salesmen, business owners, and doctors in their every day lives. But on the weekend, you can see them in their leather clad bodies, head bandanas and boots; cruising their low riding “Bikes” along the highways and byways. This group decided to cruise from Texas and Oklahoma into Colorado. The chosen route for them in Colorado was the Million Dollar Highway. This highway stretches for 75 miles in western Colorado. It follows the route is US 550 between Ouray and Durango. Though the entire stretch has been called the Million Dollar Highway, it is really the first twelve miles south of Ouray through the Uncompahgre Gorge to the summit of Red Mountain Pass which gains the highway its name. The origin of the name Million Dollar Highway is disputed. There are several legends of its origin from “it cost a million dollars a mile” to build; or built back in the 20’s, that it contains a million dollars in gold ore in the fill dirt. This highway crosses three mountain passes; Red Mountain Pass, elevation 11,018 ft. (3358M), Molas Pass, elevation 10, 910ft. (3325m), and Coal Bank Pass, elevation 10, 640 ft. (3243 m). I convinced this group to stop by my mountain retreat for lunch, as part of their trip was bringing them down Hwy. 24, south from Leadville, through Buena Vista, and into Salida. They were traveling only a few miles from my house.

Although these extremely educated professionals were equipped with the latest and most modern GPS devices, I still got the call from their cell phones that they were at a hotel in town and needed assistance in finding my house. I jumped into my trusty jeep wrangler and drove down to town to be of help. There was Stevie with his dusty bandana on and his four compares. Introductions were made and hand shakes exchanged by all but one man. He explained that once he strapped himself into and onto his large example of bikery and saddlebags and wired for sound and communication, it would be near impossible to stand and shake my hand. I assured him that it wasn’t necessary, but thanks for the thoughtfulness. This group then proceeded to follow me to the house. I somehow forgot to inform them that two thirds of the way up to the house was dirt, gravel road; and that my actual driveway is a steep, curvy, gravel driveway. When I turned on the dirt road, the first biker following me slowed to a stop. I stopped, still watching him in my rearview mirror. It was obvious to me that they had probably not been prepared to have a dirt, gravel road. He slowly started to follow, very slowly as did the other men. They all decided to just park their “bikes” down on the road and walk up the driveway for lunch. Only two of the five drove up. Stevie drove up and parked, he said he felt comfortable taking the gravel because his bike was lighter in weight than the others. The second one to ascend the driveway did not have a choice, as he had broken his “kick stand” and needed the hard concrete floor of the garage to put down his “center stand” so his bike would be stable.

The first biker walked up and informed me immediately that their “bikes” were “crusing” bikes, not mountain bikes, hence their hesitation to follow me on the dirt, gravel road. But they were all good natured about their side trip and the lunch and mountain/valley view proved all worth the effort.

Alpine Tunnel

2008-02-10T15:34:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry: Seventeen, Alpine Tunnel Hike

In the late 1873 the Denver, South Park, and Pacific Railway Company (D,SP, &P) formed in central Colorado. In 1879, a six month contract was awarded to the M. Cummins & Company to construct the Alpine Tunnel. This tunnel was to be a thirteen mile, two hundred foot wide right of way between the town sites of Quartz (in Gunnison County) and Hancock (in Chaffee County). At an altitude of 11,523 ft., it became the first tunnel constructed through the Continental Divide. The construction company and railroad shipped into Colorado thousands of Chinese migrant workers to help build this track. The construction began in July, 1880. The final construction ended in November of 1881 and the first train passed through the tunnel. This train carried supplies from the east side of the Continental Divide to the west side into Gunnison County. This railway was a narrow gauge track; 3ft. 0 in. was its width. These narrow tracks were substantially cheaper to build, equip, and operate than standard gauge or broad gauge railways, particularly in mountainous terrain. Narrow gauge railways have specialized use in mines and especially in Colorado in the 1800’s. In 1884 a major avalanche destroyed one of the small towns on the route so from 1887-1889 the tunnel closed for the winter months. In 1894 the DL&G railroad went into receivership. In 1885 four crew members were suffocated during the tunnel reopening. These continued to be a series of unfortunate events after this as, an engine house fire and a train collision in the tunnel in 1906.

Another reason for the demise of this railway was construction of modern roads in the Rockies that led to a decrease in revenue and traffic. The last train through the Alpine Tunnel was in November 1910. This was due to damage in the tunnel, and it not being worth repairing with a lack of traffic as the line failed to get much further beyond Gunnison on the west side.

The old rail bed was converted into a road by the Mile_Hi Jeep club in 1967. In 1995, the Forest Service and the Alpine Tunnel Historic District began restoration project of this area. Now both ends of the tunnel are an every day Joe’s favorite hike.

The rail bed is a slowly climbing 3% grade that ends at the opening in the mountain where the tunnel began. This is a historical site that has been filled in with rocks. The old rail bed is now a hiking trail on each side of the Divide. Hikers have a breathtaking view of a large gulch with high mountain saddles. This rail bed traverses along side the slope of Hancock Pass and has a continuous flow of rain water trickling down the embankment. Every minute crack and cranny has some variety of flowers growing in the rock in the summer. The entire hike looks like a well planned, but natural wildflower terrarium. The flowers seen here are Columbine, pussytoes, geraniums, purple fringe, goldenweed, alpine sulphur flower, arnica and wild strawberries.

Golf

2008-02-08T20:00:00.001-08:00

Journal Entry: Sixteen, Golf

For the avid golfer, Colorado is heaven. Pristine, non-humid atmosphere, breath taking scenery and crystal clear streams. At the foot of every hole transcends a white, snow capped mountain that catches your eye as your golf ball soars before you. It has been stated that a golf ball travels fifteen per cent farther in the mountains due to the non-ozone, clear and clean air. Also the fact that one is thousands of feet higher in altitude makes for the fact that the air is thinner and less dense. Deer and new born babies, whose fur is dark red with a smattering of white dots, scamper across the fairways. The babies always stop inquiringly to glance at the human species in their habitat, while the mature mother gently scolds them to keep moving into the dense thicket security between the holes. Usually flocks of ducks and geese litter the sidelines of the greens with tiny flotillas of babies as well. The summer weather is optimal for the fairway grasses to show lush green foliage. There is a marvelous contrast of colors to entertain your eyes and mind.

There are three, nine hole golf courses open in the summer. The most northern one is in Leadville. Mt. Massive golf club sits at the base of Mt. Massive, a 14er. Golf magazines come from around the world to take pictures of this picturesque experience. This course boasts that it is the highest elevation course in North America and sits at 9,680 ft. This course was originally established in 1939. Golfers have been enjoying scenic rounds here for over sixty-five years.

Buena Vista, right in the middle of the valley, also has a nine hole golf course. You are invited to do eighteen holes at each of these facilities, but somehow the back nine looks a lot like the front nine. The Buena Vista course meanders around Cottonwood Creek and also has magnificent views of Mt. Princeton, Mt. Yale, and Mt. Columbia. It seems regal to always say “Mt.” Princeton, like the formal name is Mountain Princeton, in case, when looking at it, you don’t realize this huge 14,200 ft. rocky protuberance is actually labeled a mountain. Why not just say Princeton, Yale, and Columbia?

The third golf course to be found is in the most southern town of the valley, Salida.

This golf course gives a panoramic view of Mt. Shavano. This mountain has a large rocky crevice that can be seen for miles. In the winter this crevice, very cleverly, fills with snow in just a way that resembles the outline of a large angel with wings spread out.. Thus, in the winter, the “Angel of Shavano” showers her comforting blessing on the whole valley. The golf club in Salida was started in 1926 when a golf professional from Colorado Springs, Emmitt Killian, was asked to lay out a golf course on the mesa. The original routing and green sites remain to this day, with the only changes being tee boxes, bunkers, trees and an irrigation system that was installed in the 1980’s.

Whitewater Capital

2008-01-30T15:52:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry: Fifteen, White Water Capital of Colorado

Buena Vista is known for being the White Water Capital of Colorado. Some of the most exciting white water in the nation is found here. Tourists arrive each summer to partake in the wild-ride/adventure white waters of the Arkansas River. The headwaters of this river are in and near Leadville, on the northern most end of the valley. The upper half of the most rafted portion of the river is called Numbers. Numbers are a very physically demanding stretch of continuous and technical class 4 to 5 whitewater. Rafters should be physically fit to withstand the rigorous paddling and excitement afforded on this part of the river. The next stretch of the Arkansas River is named Brown’s Canyon. The beginning of this Brown’s Canyon is just a misleading, leisurely, peaceful rafting experience. Most people think this experience will just be a walk in the park. But half way down this portion of the river, the rapids launch and the thrill commences. This middle portion is more for the adventurous family with children at least over nine years old. Brown’s Canyon provides rafters with class 3 plus. Some of the rapids have names such as Pinball, Zoomflume, Bigdrop, Staircase, Punchbowl, Widow Maker and various others. Both areas are abundant with spectacular scenery and wildlife. These portions of the river are also excellent for fly fishing and kayaking.

National Pets of Colorado

2008-01-21T16:21:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry: Fourteen, National Pets of Colorado

What is the National Pet of Colorado? Dogs. Not only are they mans best friend, they are everyone’s friend in Colorado. Almost every vehicle seen in town or on the road had a dog sitting in the front seat anxiously hanging their heads out the windows. Periodically, you must wash the windows of your vehicle because of the incessant drooling accumulated on them from the dog constantly hanging their heads out to let their jowls flap in the breeze. Every store you enter has a resident dog. I think you can take your dog anywhere and be accepted, the bank, restaurants, stores, post office, etc. There are plenty of other pets, but dogs are the quentessimal favorite without a doubt. Our family pet died a few years ago, but our grand-dogs are a great source of entertainment and comfort. Both dogs are Labrador Retrievers. Tex is an energetic blonde lab and Kaylie, a black retriever, is the queen bee. Both dogs love to go to the banks of the Arkansas River, jump into the swiftly moving, cold water, and retrieve a bright yellow tennis ball. These dogs will jump and swim until they physically cannot do it anymore. We have to make them stop and get their breaths before plunging in again into the middle of the rapids. I am amazed at what expert swimmers they are.

Boss Lake

2008-01-10T16:46:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry Thirteen: Boss Lake
This particular summer, Jazz and I decided to really focus on finding new hikes in the valley. It was interesting to see that even though we have ardently hiked this area for at least seven years, we found new hikes for us. We find it exciting and invigorating to be on an adventure that brings a slight element of danger and challenge. When I say danger, I mean, hiking in the mountains, you must know and follow the rules. There are a lot of vacationers who come to the mountains in the summer and think that they know what they are doing. We had this year, five deaths rafting on the Arkansas River itself. The rafting companies are really safe, but the river and the mountains themselves demand a certain amount of respect. When it comes to a battle of man vs. nature, the mountains will win every time. There are certain rules we learn when taking hikes. Take plenty of water, know how to put your jeep into four wheel drive-low, stay with your partners, don’t split apart, eat protein for long lasting energy, tell someone where you are going, take rain gear, take out what you take in, pack a first aid kit, a compass, a bear whistle, tissue, baggies, a kerchief, wear a hat and apply sunscreen.
Another important item to remember and be aware of while hiking in the high country is to start early in the morning. July and August are called the “monsoon” season. We usually have bright, blue sunny days in the morning until noon. Then the clouds move in and we have rain and most impressively, lightening. A hiker must take the lightening seriously, especially if you are above ten thousand feet on a mountain. I have had the old timers say that lightening will literally chase you. When you are above the tree line, the line in altitude where the tall trees do not have enough oxygen to continue to grow tall, a person then becomes the tallest thing between the ground and the sky. Therefore, people are prime targets to being struck by major bolts of lightening. A lot of vacationers who are new to the area do not realize and appreciate the danger here. We have several tourists who have been struck and killed or seriously hurt. This is why a hiker must learn to respect the mountains and the natural occurrences there.
Boss Lake is located just below Monarch Pass outside of Salida. Traveling from Salida, you take US Hwy 50 west toward Monarch Pass. At approximately mile thirteen, turn right on to Forest Road 230. Forest Road is on your right across from the Monarch Ski Lodge. Follow Forest Road 230 about 1.5 miles to the trailhead of Boss Lake.
The trail map describes this road as being “a very technical 4WD” road. Very technical for Jazz and I is fantastically enticing. Our male testosterone starts to rise, as between the two of us we figure out how to put the jeep into that 4WD low we needed to safely navigate this rocky uphill logging trail.
Having a vehicle that even will go into 4WD low is a necessity in the Rocky Mountains. My jeep is a dark evergreen color; with my signature white Lady Bug on the fender. Jazz, on the other hand, is the proud owner of a Lexus SUV. It is Iridium silver in color and looks like it only belongs on straight, conservative, city streets. I laugh every time I see her driving in it. It is the only symbol of conservatism she owns. She looks very out of place driving it. Sometimes she does take it on our hiking excursions, only when there are too many people to smash into my small Jeep Wrangler. She always reminds us that her Lexus was car of the year for SUV’s when she bought it and she actually is very adept at maneuvering over boulders and rocky cliffs. The only thing she asks is, after hiking on the rain created muddy trails that we gingerly place our feet/boots/sandals into plastic grocery bags; which she very considerately supplies for us out of no where. If we are ever stopped by the police and asked to exit the car immediately, the cop will see at least four sets of plastic Kroger grocery bags stepping out of all front and side doors accompanied by our tired hiking bodies. I need to make sure Jazz does not do anything crazy with her driving while we are in our post-hiking attire.

Our small one mile trek deposits us at the trailhead of Boss Lake where we then start hiking. This hike is mostly an uphill climb, ascending from 10,400ft. and ending at the lake at 11,520ft.
Another good thing about this hike, is, it is only about one mile on this trail. Boss Lake sits snuggled under the edge of Monarch Pass. A man was fishing at the spillway when we arrived and caught a three or four pound cutthroat trout.
He said that was his first cast of the day and he was using a silver spinner for those fishermen who are reading. This lake has been chosen to replenish the native green back trout and of course is catch and release only.

Ode to Inner Peace

2008-01-06T07:19:00.000-08:00

Have you ever seen a mountain lake at sunrise with water so deep it resonates inner peace?
It reflects the beauty all around it; it filters the sun's light and invites profound self-reflection.

Have you ever heard the voice of a Native American with a tone so deep it resonates inner peace? A voice that is grounded to the earth. A voice that lends shelter to the soul. A voice that knows the truth.

Have you ever gazed up into the stars on a cloudless night with the constellations so close it seems you can touch them? The sky is vast and resonates inner peace. It really gives freedom to your inner thoughts. And should you happen to see a falling star or the northern lights shimmering, it steals your breath away.

I have seen a mountain lake at sunrise. There is no other time that is better. The only thing more powerful than the sight is the quietness. I have heard the voice of a Native American, one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard, like a warm wool blanket on a cold damp night. And that sky full of stars, I have seen that too, but never often enough.

Brian Luke Seaward

Blue Lake, submitted by Jazz

2008-01-05T08:19:00.000-08:00

Blue Lake in Mt. Massive Wilderness Area submitted by Jazz

What started as a routine sunny summer day hike turned into the “Bhutan Death March” for one person whose quest was for the unknown territory of Blue Lake.

Liz and I were doing our favorite summer activity; hiking and exploring new territory. The hike was to be a lazy wildflower trek along the North Fork of Lake Creek Trail. There was nothing remarkable about the beginning of the hike. The usual willows partially blocked the rock littered trail. Along the way were various species of wildflowers nodding in the breeze. As the trail continued, it became mundane, one foot in front of the other in the wet creek valley. Upon crossing the creek, a fellow hiker, who was also crossing, mentioned that there was another trail back in the direction from which we came. This trail, he said, leads up a path to a lake. “It’s not far”. “You’re almost there”. These and other saying like it are familiar hiking phrases one hears when you have no idea where you are going and no idea how far it might be.

Oh good then, a new adventure. That is something both of us are always up for. The trail ascended at a very steep climb. The creek was tumbling with such great force that it can make you dizzy with vertigo. There were a lot of fallen timbers and odorous Parry Primroses scattered close to the edge of the churning waters. This trail is nothing but vertical for these two casual hikers. The trail became exciting though, like a treasure map, just trying to read the clues as to where exactly what direction to take. We began hunting for axe blazes, crushed fauna and disturbed rock and dirt for the clues which should lead us on the correct path. Did I mention that one of us forgot to bring the standard hiking equipment; the hiking stick?? Never mind, there were plenty of fallen limbs at the ready for anyone’s use.

The trail really was beautiful. There were massive spruce and pine trees keeping us shaded from the sun. The mist from the creek was cooling the air and the blue skies above were dotted with wispy, white clouds. It’s a walk into heaven.

As the trail approached the crest of the Continental Divide, I, Jazz, become determined to find this elusive lake. Liz is the more reluctant one and does not feel comfortable leaving the path which has actually disappeared into the scrubby low willows. In the distance there appeared to be a plateau. Perhaps this is where the lake is? I continued and Liz lingered behind. Now this solo hand over hand climbing breaks one of the basic hiking rules. Never leave your hiking party; stay together is the standard credo. Determination though is the driving force for me. How could I hike for hours and never reach the goal of the unknown lake? Onward, I march, side stepping glacial pot holes, dodging the boulders, and swatting errant willows that cling to my ankles as I continue. At last I think that I have arrived only to be disappointed that it is a false plateau, one more mine field of boulders to conquer and I am there.

The view ahead appeared to be a lake, not blue in color, but a hazy green. There were a few other hikers who had made it as well, lanquishing on the large boulders surrounding Blue Lake and just enjoying the fabulous views. One look at the sky reminded me that time was passing as the clouds came together to begin their afternoon showers. A quick snack of a power bar, a few swallows of water and the descent began. On the way I had noticed a field to the east that appeared to be easier going, so I choose that path. This way seemed quicker, but it was a butt-sliding adventure, through an avalanche rock field just to maneuver myself down. I had no sighting of Liz yet. Geez, where is she, wasn’t she to stay put, have I been gone that long?? I finally spot her in the distance and a sigh of relief floods my mind. I fumble for my hiking whistle to alert her to my presence, but the blowing wind carries the sound in the opposite direction. Finally she turns and sees me; a quick wave confirms that we both acknowledge each other. After several minutes we reunite. Words flowing like the water beside us…where were you? How far was it? I had to see the lake, I had to make it!! We shared short, breathless questions and statements that tumbled from our mouths. Fatigue now punctuates our return hike. The steepness of the trail is very noticeable because of this. Our legs are tired and our feet hurt. A few rest stops along the way down and now what seemed like unending miles going up, became a familiar path of twists and turns. However the clock at the car showed that we had been gone longer than usual. We each made a few reassuring phone calls and enjoyed a refreshing ice cream cone and this day is another lasting memory of challenges, beauty and friendship.

The Serenade of Nature

2007-12-24T08:35:00.000-08:00

Listen to the serenade of nature singing the Song of God. The voice that floats on the wings of the wind, to those who are able to hear, is Love's celestial Song of Love that will drive away all fears. --Old Native Hawaiian Fisherwoman

Nature is in continuous melody. The stream that flows has a million voices that calm, challenge, and move us with a rhythm that augments our own. The wind in all its forms reminds us that we are not alone in the world, and whether it caresses the sweat from our bodies or levels us with its enormous power, we hear the voice of God. The earth itself responds to our listening and sends us the whispers that only the practiced ear can record.

Only when we are one with all of nature will fear change to serenity.

From "Native Wisdom for White Minds" by Anne Wilson Schaef

Rocking at Red Rocks

2007-12-23T09:15:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry: Twelve, Rocking at Red Rocks
Red Rocks Amphitheater is nestled just west of Denver a few miles south of I-70 near the small town of Morrison. This is not a part of the Arkansas River valley, but it is an electrifying summer experience that all should have. It is a natural red rock, open air formation that towers three hundred feet on each sloping side. The massive monolithic natural creation keeps secrets of the Jurassic period of 160 million year ago. Fossil fragments of the giant 40 foot sea serpent, Plesiosaur, the marine reptile Mossaur, and flying reptiles can all be found here. The amphitheatre itself was dedicated in 1941. The city of Denver, years ago decided to use this form for a venue for music. Its original name was the Garden of Angels and has attracted musical artists since the first of the 1900’s. It has evolved into the best acoustic amphitheatre in America. The musical sounds are not tampered with or absorbed at all because of the hardness of the rock. This situation allows the ten thousand listeners, who are seated directly in front of the stage, an astounding musical experience. This particular night the rocks glowed red as the sun set caressed them and we had a spectacular lightening show as a storm came very close as well. We started the night in a small line waiting to climb a steep ramp. There were several vendors selling their wares to us as we waited. One memorable vendor was walking around selling “special brownies”. Another vendor was selling Hemp I Scream. He also generously gave samples of his treats to all who wanted it.

We were lucky enough to actually sit on the seventh row from the stage. We were there to see the rock and roll icon, Bob Dylan. The first band was named Full Metal Jacket and the 20 something crowd were attending just for them. I heard some surrounding people say Bob Dylan, for them was just a bonus. Those of us from the sixties era knew Bob Dylan was the king. It was interesting to see all ages at Red Rocks this night; the just out of college crowd, through the grey hairs who grew up with Dylan and protesting the Vietnam War. My son said Dylan’s lyrics were so true with the current feelings of disdain over American involvement in the Iraq war.
I told him that Dylan just gave the old songs about Vietnam a rebirth and found a new younger audience to please. Either way, all I know is that ten thousand fans literally stood for two hours while an older version of Bob Dylan, 66 years old to be exact, showed everyone how to be a rocker at any age. The music was full of energy and the raspy voice of Dylan was actually a soothing, familiar sound that made the grey hairs in attendance have a feeling of peace and security. It was obvious that Dylan did not have to continue to tour with concerts, since I am sure he does not need the money now. But the fact that he seemed to really enjoy the music itself as much as we did, made me smile. When we drove to Red Rocks that evening, the sky had an uncharacteristic haze over the front range of mountains.
After attending the concert, we realized that the haze was coming from Red Rocks itself. The ushers were more concerned though, with cell phone usage during the concert, than the very palpable aroma of marijuana. It was a very appropriate venue, setting, and artist for the memories and smiles brought back to the minds and faces of the older audience.

Ghost Flautist

2007-12-16T15:11:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry Eleven; Ghost Flautist in the Woods

Crested Butte is the host every year of a wildflower festival. It is always held the second week of July. This valley receives a substantial amount of snow each year which contributes to the large amount of wild flowers in their area. They boast to have only 43 frost free days all year. I have seen this valley look like someone laid a blue blanket over the top of it. The Lupine was in full bloom that year with their lush blue/violet blooms everywhere.
There are a large amount of organized hikes at this festival, with very knowledgeable people teaching about every aspect of wild flowers.
One hike we did this year was to Lily Lake. It began about thirty minutes out of town toward Edwin Lake. This hike follows an old logging road. We saw almost every species of wildflower along the way. This road is very shady and has a continuous supply of water from a small stream that follows. The combination of altitude, sunshine, and water provide wondrous wild-flowers. This year, there were sixteen people on this hike. One of the ladies we had hiked with the previous day. She looked like she was Native American descent. She had shared with us that she was a herbologist. We learned a lot from her. She told us she would be on the Lily Lake hike with us the next day.
This lady brought her “partner” with her to the Lily Lake hike and just introduced him to us as R.C. He also looked like he was a Native American. He was a tall man, long black hair pulled back in a ponytail, hiking boots, long pants, jacket, and a cap on.
The Lily Lake was across a high country field. There was no path and we could not see the lake until we were almost right at the edge.
There were beautiful dark green lily pads with yellow pod-like blooms. I was standing at the edge taking pictures of the lily pads and saw two small creatures swimming at the edge.
They were about three inches long and looked like tiny eels. I guessed they were leeches and the guide confirmed that they were. She said they laid their eggs on the underside on the lily pads. They are very slim until they start sucking blood, then their slender eel-like bodies expand with the blood they suck. We sat under the shade sitting on a fallen tree eating our lunch. The mountains and the lake were in our view. One of the girls said “If I ever get to heaven, this is what I picture it to be”. We all voiced our agreement. Suddenly we heard a sound that sounded like the rarely heard sound of elk bugling. I asked my friend if she had heard it and she verified that she had. Then we heard the sound more clearly and it was music from an Indian flute.
All of us were confused because we were on top of a mountain about 10,500 ft. We did not know where the music could be coming from. The lady who hiked with us the previous day, very shyly informed us that that was her partner in the woods playing his flute.
He had disappeared as we were eating lunch. She then, under duress, told us that her partner was actually a famous American Indian flautist named R. Carlos Nakai. My hiking partners were gasping and excited to learn this.
She asked us to not say anything to him as he was on vacation and was a very private man. We sat in silence then, and received the incredible sounds of his flute. The addition of the flautist playing in the distance added an incredibly un-predictable element to our vision of heaven.
I have always felt closer to a supreme being while hiking in the midst of multi-colored wild flowers in the high country. This man’s surprising sharing of his talent in this setting was a treat indescribable.
My friend walked with him as we descended and had a small conversation. I could hear his soft, high pitched voice as he spoke. He chose his words as carefully as he chose his silent footfalls.
Their conversation, she told me, was about balance in nature. They both spotted what they thought was a red-tail hawk.
He said that the eagle actually sounds like a chicken; clucking. Movies in Hollywood use the sound of a hawk for an eagle. He said that the eagle was a powerful, beautiful bird and in the great balance of the earth it would be out of balance if it had a powerful voice. Therefore it was given a clucking sound like a chicken. I have thought about this balance in nature a lot since then. There are a lot of examples of his observation, such as, a lovely rose, with thorns, men and women, ying and yang, alpha and omega, peanut butter and jelly, etc.
I don’t think R. Carlos Nakai knew that the mountain breeze had carried his music to our ears, so I would like to say “Thank you” to him for sharing his great gift with us that wonderful day in the Summertime Mountains.

Hiking in the buff

2007-12-11T15:49:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry: Ten, Hiking in the Buff
The Orient Land Trust located in Villa Grove, part of the San Luis valley, has an abandoned iron mine. This site is the home in the summer to approximately 250,000 bachelor Mexican free-tailed bats. We take turns planning the social hikes on Monday. This week, it was Jazz’s responsibility to plan and co-ordinate the excursion. She is the planner of my circle of friends in the mountains anyway. As a teacher, I make decisions, all day, every day during the school year. So in the summer, I refuse to make decisions. I am just the follower, and I find that I like that stance more and more all the time. Responsibility, like cooking, is not all it’s cracked up to be. The bat hike was, of course her idea. Jazz does not do the ordinary things. This is why I like her so much. Like Jacque, her husband says, his life with her has been anything but boring. The hike was a night-time hike to view the exit of the bats to feed at dusk. These bats are migratory and have a traveling range of 1,100 mile trip. Their migration is the longest documented migration of any bat species. This colony of bats eats in the region of 2-3 tons of insects each night. A group of thirty three people arrived at the Orient Land Trust about one and a half hours before sunset. We had packed water, mosquito spray, and flashlights. We needed the flashlights to walk back down the path to our cars after the sunset in the dark.

I had somehow failed to inform my husband that the beginning of the hike took us through a clothing optional resort, hot springs, and camp ground. One of the first people we encountered, of course, was a dad and his diapered toddler returning from the mineral soaking springs. It was a sharp contrast to immediately view the dad in the buff and the toddler in his diaper. It seemed like the diaper should have been worn the other way around. I got that glaring look my husband is famous for giving. The one where he cocks his head to one side and has one eye closed. It definitely cannot be described as a wink, and I got the message. The look said, “You knew about this and did not tell me did you?” look.
I just shrugged and plodded along the upward ascent to the bat cave. But of course, that one man could not have been our only experience with men hiking in the buff. Before we knew it, two more naked men joined out group of merry hikers.
These men were clad only in their hiking backpacks and hiking sandals. I am glad they felt comfortable enough to join in. We hiked with an incredible sunset across the valley of San Luis. We were warned as we reached the bat cave, to be as silent as possible. No talking, no drags your feet on the pebbled path, and no clacking of your walking sticks on the ground. The first feature to become obvious to us prove that bats were in residence was an overpowering stench of dank bat guano. This is not an aroma that you encounter on a daily basis. The smell was covering the entire outside area and was emanating from inside the caves. It took a few minutes to adjust to the smell. There are actually several large cavernous holes in the side of a small peak of a mountain. These holes used to be the mining site. Our guide had directed our attention to one specific hole and informed us that the bats would exit that hole.

We stood staring at that hole for almost half an hour being absolutely silent and reverent. As we waited, we witnessed one large owl, who took a perch on a small rocky protuberance right in the opening of the cave. He took up the same watchful pose that we had, but his intentions were entirely different from ours.
This owl had cleverly learned previously, that he could snatch dinner from an errant flying bat as it made its night-time exit looking for food. We also saw a night-hawk who also had been waiting as patiently as he could before actually flying directly into the cave and obviously plucked a bat off the roof.
My husband and I walked very quietly and slowly about ten yards back up the path and just stood admiring the sunset. Suddenly, we began to see tiny silhouettes of bats flying before us with the golden, purple glow of the sun behind them.
Then the whole colony started seeking their dinner for the night. We had literally thousands of bats flying all around our heads as they anxiously flew into the night air. These bats were astonishingly accurate flyers, dipping, diving, and swooping around our heads. We stood holding our breath; mouths opened in awe, and clutching our hats in case a bat flew a little too close. All we could hear were the thousands of tiny bat wings calling whump, whump, whump as they frantically baptized a new night. One camper that was camped near the entrance of this campground was an astrologer. He had set up a powerful telescope. The conditions for viewing stars are optimal here because there are no city lights to interfere with the objects.
This camper was offering everyone a view of Saturn and the four moons surrounding it. This was something I had never seen before either and another unexpected treat that night.
We started out descent in single file back to our cars in the dark. The path downhill was just tiny lighted dots in the night from our flashlights that looked like a string of delicate pearls. And, the buff gentlemen? Yes, they did don a sweatshirt when the night air turned chilly.

Let Nature Be Your Teacher

2007-12-10T07:19:00.000-08:00

O Great Spirit, let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes behold the red and purple sunset. Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice. Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock.
----From a Sioux Indian Prayer

Beer God

2007-12-05T13:29:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry: Nine; Beer God
One of my friends calls Colorado the Napa Valley of Beer. We have a giant supply of micro-brews here. Every summer in Salida there is a Beer Rendezvous. This year the 25th year was celebrated. About forty micro-breweries set up tents in the park by the river in Salida under some massive Cottonwood trees. There are probably about fifteen hundred beer lovers each year. For an entrance fee of twenty dollars, you can have as many beer “samples” as you can handle. Everyone mills around, rambling from tent to tent to see which beer they like the best. My personal favorite is Fat Tire from New Belgium Brewery in Ft. Collins, Colorado. Quite frequently, someone begins a crowd bonding yell with beer glasses raised in the air. It is an official salute to the beer gods, which we instantaneously join in. There are several different food kiosks around the perimeter of the beer tents incase you need to soak up some of the alcohol you have imbibed. The band playing this year was premiere. Their name was Avant Garage. They arrive on stage looking like they just came from their day jobs of being carpenters; blue jeans, work boots, and t-shirts. They strut out and begin playing a large variety of oldies rock music. Before they conclude the beer fest, we are all singing as loud as we can the words to “Secret Agent Man” and “Summertime Blues”. It was astonishing to look around and see all the “grey” beards who knew every word to those songs. On the dance floor we saw all ages enjoying high energy gyrations. Especially, one particular guy, who was having a large time with his excellent display of foot work, adorned with orange crocs, of course.

PT Cruisers

2007-11-29T14:55:00.000-08:00

Journal: Entry Eight, PT Cruisers
There are a lot of different shows in the summer. Quilt shows, art shows, festivals. One show this year is the PT Cruiser Club of Colorado. In Buena Vista we host every summer the Antique car show. This year, in addition to the Antique car show, we had the PT Cruisers of Colorado. The Cruiser is part car, part truck and entirely different from any other vehicle on the road. It first went on sale in March of 2000 and to some, was an instant hit. The PT stands for “personal transportation”. It was originally a Chrysler product and now a Daimler/Chrysler after Mercedes Benz took over from Germany. The PT has elements of a sedan, wagon, sport utility vehicle and a minivan. It also has four side doors, a rear lift gate. Daimler/Chrysler is threatening to stop producing them in 2009, so the time to purchase one is growing shorter. To the PT Cruiser clubbers, their cars are incredible hobbies. One was lime green with neon lights running around the undercarriage. Blasting the inside stereo is music like an old-fashioned ice cream truck. One car had a roll-bar instead of a backseat and an authentic parachute attached to the tail gate, just in case he went so fast he needed one. I never knew there was a PT Cruiser club. Their neon glowing love affairs with their cars gave luster to the downtown night sky of Buena Vista.

Leadville Train

2007-11-25T07:41:00.000-08:00

Journal: Entry Seven; Leadville Train
There were relatives here to visit so that is when I turn into a tour guide. It is amazing that this is the seventh summer I have spent here and I still find things to do and see that I have never done. The train ride in Leadville is one that is worth doing. It starts in Leadville and travels north and ends almost at the Molybdenum mine at Climax just before Fremont Pass. This train is a regular gauge track which means it is full size train with a diesel engine. A lot of the other railroads in this area were narrow gauge. A narrow gauge railway is a railway that has a track gauge narrower than the 1,434mm or 4ft. 8.5 in. of standard gauge railways. Most existing narrow gauge railways have gauges of 3 ft. 6 in. or less. This train brings back a lot of memories to the old folk, as they can feel the click-clack of the old rail joints and hear the train engine whine. The gentle swaying of the train and the occasional screaming of the old brakes also evokes a lot of memories. The view is like a post card. That is what I tell people who ask me what the summer is like in Colorado. I always say it is just like living in a postcard all summer long. July and August are what we call the “monsoon” season. Our usual weather pattern is bright, sunny mornings with the dark blue, clear Colorado sky. Then the clouds start to appear around noon and we get a lightening display along with a welcome rain.
By night time the clouds are gone and we have a crystal clear night with stars that seem so close and big, you imagine that you can reach out to touch them. Most late afternoons, if you look down the Arkansas valley toward the Sangre de Cristos, you can see a brilliant rainbow and on more than one occasion there could be a double rainbow as well.
We can actually see where the rainbow begins and follow the colorful arc to where it ends. If you reside in a large city most of the time, as I do, we have lost the pleasure of participating in the rainbow effect. So this is another treat almost everyday in the Summertime Mountains.

Fourth of July

2007-11-24T14:52:00.000-08:00

Journal Entry: Six; Fourth of July
The fourth of July is a giant celebration all over America. The small towns in Colorado are, in my opinion, exceptionally patriotic. Buena Vista launches the day with a pan-cake breakfast sponsored by the local Optimist Club. A long line of people greets you at the downtown park. They are waiting to join in the celebration by eating sausage, pancakes, juice and coffee. After the breakfast all people take up a post along the main street to witness a traditional small-town parade. All you have to do is join the end of the marching line to be a participant in the parade. The search and rescue vehicles are adorned with red, white, and blue; fire trucks, ambulances, police cars. Several Class B John Deere, green and yellow tractors are always in attendance. There is Uncle Sam on an enormous big wheel bicycle thanking the spectators for coming to his birthday. The girls from the local exercise club, Curves, have a marching routine using folding lawn chairs that is un-paralleled. There are dogs, and horses and children just riding their bicycles. Everyone threw candy, pencils, rulers, popsicles, or key chains to the crowd. We had out of town visitors who had never attended a parade of any kind in their lives.
They had two young children, Commander Cody and Princess Aleigha. I told the Commander after that the parade was like Halloween. Copious amounts of candy, pencils, popsicles, and toys were thrown from each car and float in the parade. He had his shirt and his hat brimming with the candy he had salvaged off the street.

The commander said it was better than Halloween because instead of running from house to house to acquire candy, all he had to do was stand on the street and catch the bounty that was being thrown at him. He had an excellent observation.
The local neighborhood bar-be-cue was hosted by friends at a new house they are building. This looks like it is going to be a superb dwelling for them. The only draw back this day was that the house was only half-way complete being built. It does not rain much in Colorado, but when it does rain, it is usually at the most inconvenient time. I must say that I have never attended a bar-be-cue where you had to dodge the rain falling through the un-finished roof and where the trash cans served a dual purpose of trash and rain collectors. And no where can you say that you have seen the dessert table so carefully positioned as on the top of a table saw.

Ptarmagin Lake

2007-11-24T09:47:00.000-08:00

Journal: Entry Five; Ptarmigan Lake

The Monday hikers went this week to a lake called Ptarmigan Lake. We started out in the national forest outside Buena Vista to the west just before Cottonwood Pass. We hiked to about 11,500 feet. It took us two and one half hours just to get to the lake. The Monday hikes are really a big social event. There is a lot of conversation and gaiety going on. The first two thirds of this hike include a continuous incline mostly in the forest. The last third we saw two smaller lakes nestled in a beautiful small meadow. This is where we see many wildflowers. DYF, otherwise known as damn yellow flowers, as there are so many yellow flowers we cannot really remember their names. There are a lot of Indian Paint Brushes, all colors, rosy, white, red-orange, purple, and a light green/yellow. Last year when on this same hike we actually almost stepped on the bird the lake is named for. A mother Ptarmigan was walking very slowly on the trail. Her coloring at the time was just like the grey speckled rocks that were strewn on the hillside. She startled us and we stopped in watch her move slowly off the trail we were all standing on. Then, just as she was off the trail, two very small babies, and exact replicas of the mother, jumped on her back and took a ride with her into the rocky terrain. This was the first year I had ever seen the bird there. I understand they do not hear very well and they are one of a few animals who change their coloring with the climate. In the winter their feathers turn white. They stay at this altitude of 11,000 feet all year long. We always eat lunch on the Monday hikes at whatever destination was our goal.

One of the men who is new to our hikes looked out over the beauty of the high country lakes and mountain terrain and recited a poem for us that gave me the chills.
It was so apropos; he said he had been waiting to share the poem with just the right setting. He certainly did an excellent job with it.
Mountains
Pluto, god of the under-world
reaches for the heavens:
but his exultation seems frozen
for the instant of a human lifetime.
These massive mounds of the earth’s flesh
are but a mere wrinkle in reality.
Lie on his beds of rock
and let yourself
Be absorbed.
Sense its stark, silent majesty,
Feel the intense calming power.
Surrender your mind and listen……..
And the mountain will serenade you
with its silent symphony.
Ken Knezic

Chipmunk War

2007-11-23T16:29:00.000-08:00

Journal: Entry Four; Chipmunk War
One of the things we do for entertainment in the summer is having a war with the chipmunks. When I first moved here I thought they were so cute, furry creatures, who sit on your deck and stuff their jowls full of the sunflower seeds you placed out there for the birds. Then the chipmunks, with these seeds stuffed in their side cheek pouches, scurry down to their holes in the ground to prepare for winter. Another unfortunate treat they like to eat though is your flowers you plant to enjoy for summer color. Each morning when I get up I have fewer flowers and more and more wonderful planters of lush green stalks. I must say I have tried everything and I am still open to try new things. So far, no matter what I use to deter these creatures from snacking on my flowers, they seem to be immune to it. I look out my kitchen window and have a staring contest with the grand-daddy of them all. He is really large and sits on the rail of the hot-tub, just as defiant as he can be. I can tell he is not taking me serious. Here is my current list, dog hair, egg whites, liquid fence, fox urine, Cayenne pepper, and the newest deterrent is Juicy Fruit gum. Supposedly the little furry creatures, my husbands’ cousin calls them Mini Bears, eat the gum and it stops up their intestines and they go somewhere else to find a more amiable food source. I have several friends offer to “relocate” these furry creatures also. The one thing that worked the best happened last year. I had a black, bob-tailed, feral cat that was actually living under the hot tub deck. He obviously ate and scared off the chipmunks. We decided to live together as long as he agreed to earn his keep, which he did. But this year I have not seen him, so the war is still on.

Salida Art Walk

2007-11-23T16:26:00.000-08:00

Journal: Entry Three; Salida Art Walk
The Summertime in Colorado has everyone outside almost all the time. For one thing, the locals have just completed enduring another winter indoors and they want to be outside as much as possible. I tell people who visit; if you do not like being outdoors, then don’t come to Colorado. One acquaintance I recently met said he was a city boy, all he liked was broken glass and concrete. How sad and profound, this stranger to me, summed up his personality and life with that singular self assessment. This type of person should not visit the fabulous Arkansas River Valley. If all you like is broken glass, then don’t come to Colorado where, if while walking or hiking we encounter trash or broken glass, we bend over hastily and pick it up, so the discarded items don’t interfere with the hike of the person who comes behind us. Or if you prefer concrete, don’t come to Colorado, where if while hiking in the high country, we happen upon tundra, we gingerly tiptoe around it so as not to step on and crush a delicate, fragile blade of foliage that an animal depends on for sustenance in the deep, cold winter months. The scenery is incredible at every turn you make. Also in the summer there are festivals, art shows, music, bar-be-cues, beer fests, and picnics and breakfasts in the park almost every day. In Salida, at the far south end of the Arkansas River valley, there is an Art Walk every year. This year, I thought was exceptional. There was more art to be seen, more galleries, more artists, and the street performers, were incredibly entertaining.

I saw ladies walking around on stilts with a young tiger on a leash. There was a group of Mud People dancing around the streets with a bongo player following them. Someone said this idea, I was told, came from Mexico, I had never seen anything like them before.
There was a banjo player sitting outside a show where he had some wonderful paintings on display. I saw a group of mountain minstrels; the dulcimer or auto-harp player was unique in her own way. The Arkansas River runs through this town and has a great playground for kayakers. We always stand at the bridge in amazement to watch these guys ride the whitewater, turn over in the water, and flip themselves upright it seems just before drowning.
The evening was spent at a small restaurant in Buena Vista listening to a friend who is a flautist that retired here from Dallas, Texas.
He and his wife both played for the Dallas Symphony, she the piano and he the flute. I thank them for sharing their talents with us here in the valley. This friend is sometimes a hiking companion as well. We hike in the mountains and she astutely shares and actually teaches us about classical music. This is a rare occasion for the music lovers in the group. Also this night was a local person who played a sweet classic guitar. Another wonderful day ended with a glass of red wine and good friends and easy music.

Lovely (Lost) Lake

2007-11-23T16:22:00.000-08:00

Journal: Entry Two; Lovely Lake
One of the favorite hikes in the Arkansas River valley is not on the Chamber of Commerce hikes for vacationers. We have been asked by some who write the yearly documents that are handed out to tourists if this hike should be shared. We immediately say a resounding “no”. There are some hikes that the locals prefer to keep to themselves. One of the things we like most about hiking is the solitude and quiet of being closer to God in the high country. The last thing we want is a large group of touristas with their loud, whiney city kids and obnoxious dogs interfering with our religious experience. So for confidentiality purposes I will name this hike Lovely Lake and those who know this hike will know which one I am referring to. In the past years a group of hiking buddies and I have taken this hike to a new level. We go in the early evening and each of us packs a gourmet dinner to share with everyone. The foods we can place gingerly into our backpacks are amazing to see. I have seen lots of wine, beer, homemade blueberry pie, tequila/lime soaked chicken tenders, Thai chicken wraps, smoked salmon, goat cheese, and various assortments of sandwiches. We hike just below the Continental Divide on a parallel path that leads us to the Lovely Lake.
About two thirds of the way there, and if the sky is clear, you can see the snowy peaks of Pikes Peak which is around one hundred miles away.

The wild flowers are usually in bloom also in late June and July. Lots of elephant heads, a variety of colors of Indian Paintbrush, penstemon, and chiming bells.
I am always amazed that these fragile, small, beautiful flowers can survive each winter at around eleven thousand feet, frozen, and covered with several yards of snow pack.
I am encouraged every year by their courage and tenacity to rise out of the frozen hard ground and show the world once again that they are survivors and have lived another year to share their beauty.
But I return back to this hike. I really do not have the correct words to describe a gourmet dinner eaten at the banks of a high country lake. Wonderful friends and conversation; sharing of food; and a sunset to view that is another religious experience all by itself. We almost want to whisper to ourselves because we feel so close to a supreme being here, and it seems like we should pay homage and be reverent.
I have also taken this hike early in June when you must trudge through snow pack. This year at the end the snow pack was covering the last part of the trail and we could hear and see the stream was flowing under the snow pack. We knew we could not walk on this snow and did not trust it to hold our weight. The other option was to traverse a large boulder field where we usually see and hear pika and marmot that live there. We doggedly, like the mountain goats we really are, clamored over the rocks to reach the final destination.

One third of the lake was still frozen, and we sat like usual and soaked in the sight. A bright sun and Colorado blue ski welcomed us and we adored it as we silently ate our respective lunches together.

Journal Entry One

2007-11-23T13:28:00.000-08:00

The First Badass Journal of Summertime in the Mountains

Journal: Entry One; First Summer Hike

Hiking to Interlaken, Jacque, Jazz, Liz, Nicky
Jazz, Jacque, and I took their nine year old grandson Nicky on a three mile hike beside a beautiful large mountain lake. This lake, Twin Lakes, is an old glacier that years ago got stuck between mountain peaks and came to rest here. After many years of melting; the glacier transformed in a lake. One of the “14er’s”, mountains taller than fourteen thousand feet, named Mt. Massive is at the head of this lake. This hike is found just before the dam off Hwy. 82 that goes over Independence Pass to Aspen. Nestled at the end of this hike is an old resort named Interlaken. It has several buildings that are over one hundred years old. This resort was here for the wealthy mining families to go on summer vacations. The pictures here tell a story of life with dancing, eating, playing games, and lots of social interaction. I can almost hear the laughter and merriment that was done here each time I hike to it. By 1885 this area was booming tourist area for the rich silver miners. James V. Dexter, a Denver-Leadville mining magnate, purchased the original hotel where Interlaken now sits. This resort became a favorite boating, fishing and hunting spot. They provided a log tavern, pool hall, and sheds to house guests and their horses. Dexter, prior to owning this resort, had been a seaman. His experience at sea is noticed in the private cabin which was constructed in the mid-1890’s. This cabin has a glass enclosed cupola that sits at the very top.

The cabin has been recently renovated and on certain days you may climb the narrow wooden staircase to view the mountains and lake in all directions. The stair banister is old cherry wood that has been worn to a sharp, smooth shine from all the various hands that held to it as they climbed. This hike makes for an incredibly picturesque day of hiking. I must admit I was skeptical of Nicky going on a hike as it is my experience that boys this age are just whiney and lazy. But Nicky proved me wrong in that the only thing that had him bothered was at the beginning his “butt” day pack would not stay in place. So he decided his “butt” pack should actually be a “hip” pack. After he replaced the pack accordingly on his hip instead, he did a beautiful job of hiking with the adults.
Nicky found a baby mouse and proceeded to name him Gerard after my husband because he was not there. Nicky had bonded with Gerard during a previous outing, so he was upset that Gerard was not on the hike this time.
Therefore the baby mouse was named Gerard. This was a very small grey baby mouse probably no more than two inches from his beady eyes to the tip of his tail.
Nicky placed the baby on his head and covered it with his orange” Little E” cap. The mouse had an adventure with us to Interlaken and back to his mother where Nicky first picked him up. I told Nicky that the mouse probably had a heart attack and died since some giant human hand had reached down and plucked him off the forest floor where he was living.

The baby mouse really looked dead until Nicky poked at him sitting in his palm and Gerard tried to walk around. So we decided that he was just a baby mouse playing opossum under Nicky’s orange “Little E” cap.
We then saw the osprey nest we had been in search for and the real reason why we decided to do this hike anyway. At the tip of one of the points of Twin Lakes is a huge osprey nest that is probably 3ftx3ftx3ft. We have been observing two parents nest here for several years. It is always a treat to see the mother and father osprey, wing span of about 6 feet, dark feathers on top and when they fly the undercarriage is white. Their eyes are ringed with black and they have the hooked beak of a raptor.
One year we saw the babies perched on the edge of this massive nest and squawking loudly for their parents to hurry and bring food.
They were furry, downy creatures and it made me teary eyed to witness such raw nature first hand.
One of our friends, who had done this hike a few weeks earlier, had informed us that the nest was gone, but we did not believe her and had to see for our selves. I got a big hug from Jacque when he first spotted the parents this year at the nest where we knew they should be.
This is one of the things I like most about Jacque is he gives wonderful hugs. He is a very tall man and wears size 15 shoes. One has a feeling of safety and security with his hugs, which he is generous about giving.

I left this group, after we shared a reward of ice cream cones sitting on the porch of the local diner, open only in the summer months. In the winter they close because they sit at the base of the Independence Pass which goes to Aspen. This pass closes each winter because of snow and so do the stores and diners found at the base of the mountain range there. I always wonder what the owners and employees do in the winter months.
Do they make enough money in those very short warm months to be able to pay their bills for the whole year or do they work a different job somewhere else in the winter?
I wonder what it would be like to have a job that you know upon taking it will only last about the five warm months of summer.
I had an appointment with an acquaintance who is a chiropractor. We sometimes play golf with him in the summer and his office was near the hike.
I like him because even though he is a relatively young man, around 49 years old, he practiced like an old fashioned chiropractor. He likes to manipulate the whole spine each time he does an adjustment for you. This makes sense to me.
If you just manipulate one section of the spine, then doesn’t that just throw the rest of the spinal column out of whack, which is what we are trying to fix in the first place? Anyway this guy, Dr. Spark, had been going through a horrendous divorce. I have known this for a year as he shared with us during a round of golf last year that he was contemplating a divorce and he just proceeded from there.

This day he told me in his office, that the prior week his ex-wife to be, came out to his house, threw herself on him outside in the yard, wrapped both her legs around his waist and tried to kiss him on the lips. He then threw her on the ground and went into his house. Not too much later the police arrived and arrested him for assault and battery.
He spent two nights in the local jail. A few days after that, a mother and her seven year old daughter were in his office. The daughter wanted to play with his dog, Gracie, who was always at the office with him. Gracie is a lovely grey Yorkshire terrier. She has always minded her manners every time I have seen her at his office.
He said the girl could pet Gracie if she was careful. Gracie is 11 years old and he had a patient so he could not stand and watch the child. So while Dr. Spark was manipulating someone’s spine, Gracie bit the girl.
She bit the girl in the eye and damaged her tear ducts. Dr. Spark then told me that if his liability insurance says he was liable, then the seventeen thousand dollars required to fix the girls eye would be fully paid.
If the insurance company does not see him as liable then they only pay ten thousand dollars and he will have to pay the additional seven thousand dollars personally. I knew he had been hard to find on the telephone. I was beginning to understand why now. These stories were so absurd. I made an appointment with him for next week and wished him well. Just hearing about his escapades made my day brighter.

I drove home in my open air jeep, following the Arkansas River which winds beside the road. There is a small family of big horn sheep that I usually see on the smaller range of mountains called the Mosquito Range to the east of the river. I am always looking for wild life in the summer. You never know what you might see and I have become very adept at spotting wild life. So at the highest rocky peak, about nine thousand feet high and not far from the road, I spotted one of the large big horn sheep standing.
He was silhouetted and looked like he was the King of the Mountain, and actually at this time he really was. He was looking down over the road and river and just surveying his domain. Another beautiful sight, on an ordinary day, in the Summertime Mountains.

Prologue

2007-11-23T13:26:00.000-08:00

The best kept secret in Colorado is the Arkansas River Valley. This valley is called the “Banana Belt” of Colorado. It sits basically in the middle of the state and lies between the Collegiate Peaks of the Sawatch Range on the West, and the Mosquito Range on the East. The southern border is the northern tip of the Sangre de Cristos and the Northern border is the highest city in North America, Leadville. Crested Butte is just across the Cottonwood Pass, west over the divide. Aspen is north-west about ninety miles and Breckenridge is ninety miles north east. The width of the valley is twenty five miles and the length is about fifty miles. This valley is sometimes called the Tri-peak region because of the signature three peaks of Mt. Princeton. Mt. Princeton is one of the Collegiate Peak mountain range of the Sawatch. This mountain is number 20 on the list of elevations. Its singular elevation is 14, 197 ft. To be ranked on this list, a peak must rise at least 300 feet above the saddle that connects it to the nearest 14er (if another exists nearby). This guideline has been in use in Colorado for some time. Most vacationers think Pikes Peak is the tallest peak. But in reality Pikes Peak, 14,100 ft., is number thirty out of fifty three peaks. The highest peak in Colorado sits right in the Arkansas River valley, just north of Mt. Princeton. This peak is Mt. Elbert who is 14,433 ft.; the tallest mountain in Colorado.

Because the valley is relatively small and narrow, is why it has such temperate weather. That is also why it has the nickname the Banana Belt. The winters are mild and the summers are perfect. This is one of the reasons why my husband and I bought a second home there. I am fortunate to be able to spend every summer there. My current primary job is teaching, and writing is secondary; although I hope to flip-flop that one day soon. Teaching is a great job. The best thing about teaching, no matter what any educator tells you, is summer off. There is no other job where you work hard for nine months and get three months off after that. If you have ever taught for any length of time, with summers off, you realize that you cannot return to a different job other than teaching.
I love seeing the “light bulb” moment when a student totally understands what you are teaching; when a student can complete a skill with proficiency because you were the one who taught them the skill. That is one of the reasons why teachers continue to stay in their profession. There are a lot of stressors on educators now.
All students must pass the standardized test, parents are demanding, and the paper work on the computer is unending. But the honest truth of why teachers continue with teaching is summers off. Educators are liberated at the end of May to play carefree until sometime in August. I don’t know who looks forward to summer more, the students or the teachers. This unbounded time allows for teachers to recoup time with family, learn new classroom concepts, or just to languish around in the lazy days of summer.

I am fortunate enough to be able to spend the entire summer in Colorado. The John Denver songs that speak of his love of the Rocky Mountains, the high you get from the flowers, and rain of fire in the sky, the rocky cathedrals that reach to the sky, are all some of the very same reasons why I love the mountains. Most people, unless they are mountain lovers, don’t really understand the lure of the high country. When we say high country, we mean that we want to have our feet on terra-firma, at 10,000ft. or more. I want to feel like I am at one with the mountains.
Their poly-colored majesty gives a great sense of security and uncharacteristic peace. All of life here is a much slower pace and the favorite quote is “No worries”. There is no time in the lives of the Colorado natives for impatience or rudeness. It does not take long for the fast paced chaos of the city to wear down to a much slower, peaceful long yawn.
Being an author is an unexpected talent I have found. Writing takes a lot more emotional work than anyone can imagine.
I recently saw an interview with J. K. Rowling, the author of the Harry Potter series. She confessed that she cried while writing several of her dramatic scenes in her Harry Potter books. She was literally crying over imaginary characters that she had transformed into emotional friends. This is real writer’s passion; the personal, inner drive to put a story into words on a piece of paper. A work that, until you experience it; one does not understand. “Lay people”, not in the writing world, do not comprehend the overwhelming energy and naked emotion that is required to be an author.

I am convinced that, that naked emotion is a reason why many authors feel more inspired and comfortable writing at night. They can hide from the world the fact that their writing emotions run the gamut with them in their creative modes. How foolish we must look, hunched over our keyboards, typing as fast as we can and wiping the tears from our faces during incredibly creative midnight manias. Only in the dark, do we feel safe from outside scrutiny, and feel free to weep and bare our emotional writing talents to share with others. In the dark of night, solitary and alone, a writer expels words that cause crying and laughter; a lot of pushing and cajoling, pain and concentration. A new literary baby is finally given birth to, and sprouted wings, only to be shared with the world.
I have always been an avid reader. My parents were not ones to read books to us at night, nor were they role models of reading anything but the newspaper. I am one of the many who learned to love to read as an escape.
I always wondered “escape from what”? I personally was escaping from a very mentally ill, delusional, bi-polar mother. I found security and comfort in my room alone with a book. Reading, now, for me though is a daily activity. Brush my teeth, fix my hair, work and cook dinner, read. My day is never complete unless I have spent some time reading.

Reading is an activity I truly love to do. Writing about the mountains is one of my other passions. This book was written for the Everyday Joe Hiker, though. There are a lot of what we call “die hard” hikers. These people are incredibly physically fit and don’t mind starting out on a hike at 500 AM so as to reach the summit of a peak that is over 14,000ft. tall. They are admirable. The everyday Joe Hiker is someone who loves to hike, but doesn’t want to end the experience on hands and knees scaling over rocky saddles. The Joes love the adventure, but don’t want to work too hard to achieve it. We are the ones who go to the gym around twice a week, at the most, and are just happy “being there”. We show up for the daily hike, wearing our Merrill’s hiking sandals, around 800 AM with our last cup of coffee in our hand and fully expect to be home in time for the start of happy hour. My best hiking buddy, Jazz, and I use our sandals as a barometer of whether we want to take on a certain hike or not. If the terrain is too treacherous for sandals, then we won’t take the hike. We wore the traditional hiking boots, with a double layer of socks for years. We found that after hiking in the summer for about three hours, all we could think of was taking our boots off at the next cold, clear water stream; which we did all the time. So we traded out boots for hiking sandals. Now we just wade right through the cold, refreshing water with out bare, red painted toes sticking out. No since in having to stop, unlace your boots and stick your feet in the water if you don’t have to. I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I loved creating it.