|
Notes from the Trail
|
|
by Barb Boyer Buck A little more than a month ago on my 54th birthday, I took a stroll into Wild Basin. This was just a couple of days before Rocky Mountain National Park closed for pandemic mitigation. A group of four young people wearing sneakers and light jackets were standing at the Sandbeach Lake trailhead. They discussed whether or not they should hike up to the lake.
Yes, I had been. It was decades ago and I wore the same hiking boots I was now putting on my feet. “A long time ago,” I said. “It was a hard hike, very steep.” The teenagers mulled it over a few more minutes and then got back into their car and roared off. I watched them leave and considered taking the hike myself. I started up the trail, but then broke left to follow the Ouzel Falls trail signs. I chickened out. I had the right shoes, fortified against the icy snow patches with YakTraks, I had a real jacket, but I’m not the woman I used to be.
before until after 11 p.m. and didn’t get much sleep. “How can you do this hike after working so late?” Tim asked, and I felt strong and admired. That’s a great feeling. We were going to camp in Rocky Mountain National Park’s backcountry for the first time as a couple.
But Tim has lived here as long as the Rotary’s Duck Race has been around. When I met him, he was well-versed on hiking Rocky. He was the expert. I was just in love with the landscape, the flowers, the weather - I documented every sight with my camera. I grew up hiking and camping with my parents in northern California and southern Colorado, but every place Tim took me to was something new and beautiful. Rocky Mountain National Park is one of this country’s richest treasures.
Anyway, he was my geek one week, and after I developed the black and white picture I took of him, Tim illustrated it with his cartoon art before it went to press. So, I had my dream job in a dream location. I lived in a tiny efficiency cabin near the hospital and after Tim and I got together, we moved next door to a larger, 2-bedroom place owned by the same people. We had the best landlords.
you’re in shape. I’d like to think we made it in less time – I was in the best shape of my life since I was on the swim team in high school. I don’t remember and since this is my story, I suppose I can say whatever I like about it.
We were heavily laden – we liked our food and drink and were not going to scrimp just because we were in the wilderness. I distinctly remember a bag of apples and a bottle of wine, but we brought other food, too. We also carried camp and cooking gear, sleeping bags. We didn’t pack many clothes, except for layers. It gets cold at 10,000 feet.
When we reached the lake, it was what I had imagined. And more. I remember bits and pieces – I remember taking photographs, most of all. Tim had some
We hiked back down under cloudy skies. It was cool and dry; the hike was a piece of cake (these days, I shudder to think what my knees would do). We stopped again for a few pictures. I took two rolls of film in those pre-digital days and I’m glad I did, even though it cost me close to $10 to develop them. That evening, I went to work at the restaurant again.
recovered from several major surgeries. I learned, the hard way, about patience and gratitude.
right away, I keep trying until I master it. And in this time of quarantine, my patience is being tested again. It seems to be holding up pretty well, actually, and I wish the same for all of you.  Under cloudy skies, Sandbeach Lake takes on a deep green color.
0 Comments
by Sybil Barnes Sitting in my house wondering when this “social distancing” will end and there will be entertainment venues and gathering places open and restaurant or bar tables around which to gather, I remember when ... Won’t you return with me to “those thrilling days of yesteryear” as I look back on a simpler time when we wanted to mingle with other people?
In the evening, we usually went to a program at the Y camp. Sunday was the hymn sing. Other nights were movie screenings or talent shows or lectures about world events. And then there were dances at the Teen Barn or hanging out playing spades or ranking passers-by on the Ad Building steps or watching the local boys who came out to play basketball. At least once a week, we went downtown. My father loved to eat and talk to people. My brother and I went along for the ride. We usually drove to the Dark Horse parking lot. Our first stop was to visit the Kemple family at their arcade. They offered a shooting gallery and booths for tossing baseballs into milk bottles or bursting balloons with darts. We rarely played any of the games, just enjoyed talking with them. Our other entertainment there was watching who was coming in or out of the Dark Horse bar, Sometimes as a special treat, we went in and sat on the carousel horse barstools to enjoy a bowl of soup. My grandmother was a suffragist and a supporter of the Temperance Movements so my father’s drink of choice was water. Maybe that’s when I became a CocaCola addict. The Dark Horse and all of the Riverside entertainment complex were torn down before I was old enough to drink there. We went on our way across the bridge to the Wheel alley. There was another arcade where one of the Riverside Plaza fountains is now with pinball machines and other games. Sometimes my brother would peel off there to hang out with his friends. My father and I turned east on to Elkhorn for a refuelling stop - the Dog House. Hazel and Dale Stoner spent their winters travelling in the southwest to fairs and rodeos. In the summer they offered hamburgers, hot dogs and corn on the cob from their tiny storefront between Coulter’s Waffle Kitchen and the Macdonald Book Shop. The corn was on a stick - perfect for eating while walking - and kept in a pot of melted butter so we always needed a pile of napkins to wipe our greasy faces. The Dog House was a casualty of the 1982 Lawn Lake flood. Continuing east on Elkhorn, we passed Jerry’s Sandwich Shop and maybe stopped into the corner pharmacy - Alpine Drug - to look at the magazine rack. Further down the street we stared at the baron of beef lit up by heat lamps in the window of the Tender Steer. In the next block was Jax Snax, but not much was happening at that 3.2 bar until later in the evening. And Brodies Market was usually closed after 6 p.m. Our next stop was Casey’s little train, the Silver Streak Railroad, at Trout Haven. I felt way too sophisticated to go for a ride but I still loved to hear Phil Martin’s chant and always laughed when he would tilt up a car with a crowbar and call out “There’s a BEAR under there.” Past the train station, there was a gas station and the original Trout Haven pond. Small vending machines offered fish food for purchase Sometimes we picked up handfuls of gravel to throw in to see the fish rise to the surface. The small row of shops that signalled the end of the business district started with Andy Anderson’s liquor store and ended with Crowley’s Restaurant. In between was Gift Haven where Lois and Ted Matthews entertained us with stories of the customers they had that day or their adventures hiking in RMNP. I used to have a collection of porcelain animals that were purchased there. Then it was on to DieAlte Delicatessen for another food stop. They had wonderful sandwiches. My memory is creaky about whether it was owned by Peter Marsh’s family or some of the Crowleys. (maybe both at different times.) Munching on our sandwiches and chips, we crossed the street and turned west to walk by the football field, soon to be turned into a parking lot after the new school was built out by the fairgrounds. We got a drink of water from the fountain in front of the original library with its Hobbit House wooden door in Bond Park. Then we passed the Chamber of Commerce, the Town Hall/Police Department and the Coffee Bar before reaching one of our favorites - the Silver Spruce Pharmacy.
Refreshed and fortified, we continued up the street, maybe stopping to watch the airbrush artist painting sweatshirts next to Western Brands. In the next block we ducked into the Taffy Shop to say hello to Mr. Slack and get a small box of our favorites - mint, lemon and cinnamon. On past the Community Church and the Dinner Bell and across Fall River for more ice cream at the Dairy King. My choice there was a chocolate dipped soft-swirl cone The bathrooms at Tregent Park mark that location. Back across the street and turning east, we looked in the windows of Kings Casuals to see the latest women’s fashions and at the horse paintings and tiny carousel in the Haff Sisters studio before stopping at the Chevron to visit with Fred Bonelli when he wasn’t having to dash out to fill somebody’s gas tank or work on fixing a flat tire. If you’ve ever seen a brochure for Helen and Tom Justin’s original Lazy B Ranch/Chuckwagon on Dry Gulch Road, Fred is the cook in the cover photograph. More food was on display at Hart’s Cottage Inn Buffeteria and further down that block there was another window full of meat under heat lamps at the Continental.Besides a bar, that was a fine dining establishment in several different incarnations. Next door we stopped to visit Lois Schmidt at the Estes Park Times and Old Fashioned Candy Store. Usually my father picked up some horehound drops and I went for the butterscotch disks or cinnamon bears. One more stop - up Moraine to the original Tony’s in Gaslight Square where we picked up more sandwich fixings to enjoy at home or sometimes had a sloppy joe burger or smoked oyster pizza.to counteract the earlier inhalings of sugar. Stuffed to the gills, we might stop at the A&W (now the parking lot across from Snowy Peaks Winery) for a jug of root beer. And then it was home again to watch the stars, listen to the burble of the Big Thompson, and think about what to eat tomorrow. What do you remember about your early visits to Estes Park? They could be from half a century ago or last summer. Share them with us. This essay will appear in a slightly different form in the Estes Park Museum newsletter sometime in the coming year.
by Marlene Borneman One of my favorite quotes: Where flowers bloom, so does hope. -Lady Bird Johnson In this time of uncertainty, I need something reliable and upbeat to look forward to in the near future. My husband and I have cancelled our spring trips to California and Arizona. So, I decided to focus on getting out and searching for early budding native plants. Thoughts of blooming wildflowers bestow on my soul an absolute sense of peace and joy. Vivid memories of past wildflower seasons energize me while providing some normalcy to my “new” routine. In this stay-at-home environment we find ourselves in, I’m getting out my notes jogging my memory about what will be blooming when and where in the coming weeks in and near RMNP. Our native wildflowers will come up no matter what and not disappoint. I remind myself that native plants are resourceful, resilient, hardy and persistent.
You will be so prepared for summer with the hope of exploring in Rocky once again. For now, I’m good with searching for those first flowers of the season wherever I can. Here are a few common spring wildflowers you can start looking for now through June.
The Stemless Easter Daisies ( T. exscapa) have larger flowers and lack the mass of hairy tufts on the bracts. The bright white flowers are easy to spot on sunny hillsides. I find it satisfying to identify a plant with confidence. Be inspired to use this time for learning Colorado native wildflowers and get out where you can in search of promising displays of native plants. Remember, we live in a mind-blowing part of the world. Take pleasure in Colorado’s sunshine, experience the challenge of botanizing all while exercising your mind and body. Please keep in mind you don’t have to be a botanist to use botany. Don’t forget your camera, hand lens and wildflower guidebooks on your explorations. You can purchase these outstanding Wildflower Identification guidebook from: Rocky Mountain Conservancy, click here. Colorado Mountain Club, click here.
By Barb Boyer Buck There is a quality to the early spring air in the Colorado Rocky Mountains that makes me want to get outside. The weather changes quickly here, so I wear layers and bring snowshoes or spikes in case I’ll need them. Once I actually start walking in it, the fresh air entices me to rip off my hat and gloves and unzip my coat. It’s still chilly but if the wind isn’t blowing, it’s an amazing feeling on my skin – more invigorating than cold. The air is a call to come out of hibernation and embrace the wilderness again. This is weather made for humans: calm, with temps ranging from chilly to warm. Rocky Mountain wildlife thrives in many conditions but humans can bask in this pleasant weather, rediscovering hope in Spring.
the recent closure of Rocky Mountain National Park and all accommodations in town. Nor to the fact that no one is eating out anymore and pretty much staying in their homes. This year, with the threat of the dreaded COVID19 keeping everyone inside, the spring air is even more tempting. Truly, the air smells and feels so fresh it can’t help but draw me outside.
I imagine it smells like mustard because that’s what it looks like. It covers every surface, even creeping through all the cracks in your home to make deposits on your furniture. But right now, in early Spring in the Rockies, the air is nurturing and clean. When the temperature is mild, I open my windows to let the glorious breeze touch everything that has gotten dreary in my house over the winter. My plants perk up and start stretching even more toward the promise of Spring.
I went to the store on March 16, wearing medical exam gloves and a face mask (not the 95 kind, just the kind that I already had). I dragged my friend along with
Just two days later I took what turned out to be my last hike in Rocky Mountain National Park “until further notice.” I saw many groups of people, hugging and kissing each other for selfies. It seemed like summertime – almost as crowded and just as noisy. I began wondering if we should practice social distancing outside, too. On March 20, our mayor asked the Secretary of the Interior to close Rocky Mountain National Park; that evening, RMNP closed for an indeterminate period of time. And three days later, all hotels were ordered to stop operations by the Town of Estes Park. Why would a town that depends on tourism to survive discourage visitation of any kind? This situation is very serious, I realized.
For all of us who take solace in nature, we handle it by answering the call of the spring air.
Accept Nature’s invitation to shed the dreariness of Winter and be renewed by Spring. 
by Barb Boyer Buck A father fights for a better life for his children, a grandfather spoils them. A father shows his offspring how to be productive citizens of the world by teaching them the valuable lessons he has learned. A grandfather rests on the wealth of his knowledge and experience and shares these, generously and without condition, with his grandchildren. Such are the patriarchs of the Estes Valley, Enos Mills and FO Stanley, the leaders who are credited with the development and the establishment of Rocky Mountain National Park and the Town of Estes Park.
She can be seen from miles East. This striking landmark is named for the man who first spotted her on behalf of the US Government in 1820, Major Stephen Long. But thousands of years before that, Longs and her sister, Mount Meeker (13,911 ft.), were designated the “two guides” by the indigenous people who made what is now the northern plains of Colorado part of their territory. These nomads followed their “guides” all the way up to the top of the Divide, to the alpine tundra which thrives where it’s too high for trees to grow. There, they hunted the now-extinct mountain bison, and elk. It was their summer home, a very fat and sweet season. Longs Peak has inspired a painting by Albert Bierstadt, a photograph by Ansel Adams, amazing prose, countless songs, and thousands of climbers to conquer that unmovable monarch. When he was 14 years old, Mills was sent by his family to seek the “mountain cure” at his relative’s homestead. The Reverend Elkanah Lamb, cousin to Mills’ mother, lived in the Tahosa Valley, south of Estes Park, with Longs Peak towering over it. Ever since and for the rest of his life, this peak consumed Mills’ activities and ponderings. When he first arrived in 1884 he was frail, suffering from an undiagnosed allergy to the wheat his family farmed. (Today, we call that celiac disease.) At first, he couldn’t climb Longs Peak at all. As he regained his health in the mountain air of the Rockies, Enos guided guests to the top of Longs frequently; he summited the peak 297 times in his lifetime. He loved her so much he was eventually inspired to take up the fight for the conservation of the land she sits on.  This is the view of Mount Meeker (left) and Longs Peak (right) from near my home in Estes Park. These peaks were called the Two Guides by indigenous people who used them to travel to their summer hunting grounds (now located along Trail Ridge Road). Photo by Barb Boyer Buck Enos spent winters away from the homestead working at various mining operations until a fire at the Anaconda Copper Mine in Butte, Montana, put him out of work in the fall of 1889. Visitors would not arrive to Longs Peak House (Lamb’s establishment which was later purchased by Mills) until summer, so it freed the young man to travel to places he had never been. While visiting a beach in San Francisco later that year, Mills listened to a speech by John Muir who disparaged the west’s prevailing philosophy of homesteading. People do not have a divine right to the indiscriminate use of surrounding natural resources while establishing a home or eking out a living, Muir positioned. This California naturalist and champion for Yosemite National Park would become his lifelong friend and mentor. Mills soon began to question his choice of employment in the mines. He studied conservation and began writing his own pieces on the subject. When guiding his summer guests around the Estes Valley and up Longs Peak, Mills spoke of the negative impact humans can have on nature. Visitors were chastised for picking wildflowers and encouraged to get out into the wilderness every day of their visit. Eventually he became Colorado’s official snow recorder, snowshoeing the high ridges of the Continental Divide to measure snow-pack with his trusty dog Scotch by his side. He was soon inspired to take on the cause for creating Rocky Mountain National Park. Mills’ original plan for the national park included 1,000 square miles of Colorado’s Rocky Mountains, extending from Colorado Springs to the Wyoming border. But the Rocky Mountains contained valuable minerals, including gold. The Colorado Gold Rush which began in 1858 was instrumental in the formation of the state of Colorado in 1876. There was money to be made from logging as well. Conservation was a very hard sell in the west during the 19th Century. This was a difficult time for Enos Mills, living in the Estes Valley. Local residents – all homesteaders – resented his work in conservation and felt personally threatened by his idea of creating a national park in their backyard. Sewer lines were run onto his land and his cattle were reportedly poisoned. History may look upon Enos Mills as one of the most visionary men of his time, but his neighbors saw him as a dangerous pariah and meted out frontier justice with the conviction of self-made pioneers. Mills began to travel the country and speak on naturalist subjects and the proposed Rocky Mountain National Park. He gained enough support and influence to see his dream realized – America’s 10th National Park was established on January 26, 1915, and dedicated in September of that year. But it only contained a little more than 350 square miles. Subsequent acquisitions grew the Park to what it is today.  Rocky Mountain National Park was dedicated in September of 1915. historic photo FO Stanley, “the grandfather of Estes Park,” also came to the area for health concerns – and he didn’t exactly fit in with his new neighbors, either. Estes Park residents first heard of his arrival in the early summer of 1903 when he completed the 16-mile trip from Lyons to Estes Park in less than two hours via the Stanley Steamer, a feat none thought possible. FO invented the Stanley Steamer (a steam-powered motor car) with his twin brother, FE Stanley. They were raised in Kingston, Maine, and these brilliant men are credited with another remarkable invention: dry plate photography. They sold this technology to George Eastman who went on to establish the Eastman/Kodak company. But by the time he was 50, FO suffered from tuberculosis and he left his home with his wife, Flora, to seek the dry mountain air of Colorado. When he first arrived in Estes Park, crowned by the indomitable Longs Peak, he was smitten by its beauty. Imagine the reaction of the earliest Estes Park pioneers when they first saw Stanley sputter into town in his motor car, backed by the wealth of his established family and the many successes he and his brother realized. Within several years, he announced his intention to build a luxury hotel, complete with running water and electricity. This was a crazy plan, thought most of the locals, and viewed his activity with suspicion. But Stanley’s innovative developments proved beneficial for the entire community. To generate electricity, he established a hydroplant at Fall River and built distribution lines from the operation to his hotel. Along the way, he sold electricity to residents by selling them light bulbs. He established the area’s first water distribution system, too, by feeding the waters of Black Canyon creek directly to his hotel via wooden pipes lined with pitch. When the doors opened in 1909, the Stanley Hotel greeted its guests with a stunning view of Longs Peak, a flood of electric lights, and hot-and-cold running water, amenities unheard of in the remote Colorado mountains at that time.
It was his kindness and generosity he extended to the children of Estes Park that first earned him the moniker “grandfather of Estes Park.” He would give children trinkets and dimes and would often stop to give them rides in his steam car.
Although both men were initially treated with attitudes ranging from skepticism to outright hostility, Mills and Stanley are now viewed as the most important contributors to area’s development and preservation. As it is can be with any good parent or grandparent, their efforts in guiding and providing for their “children” were misunderstood at the time. In Estes Park this morning, looking at the unspoiled views surrounding Longs Peak, gratitude fills my soul. Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Grandpa.
 By Rebecca Detterline The fall colors were not quite popping on my recent trip to the Thunder Lake Cabin, so as I stumbled happily around Wild Basin, I began to take notice of all the wild flowers transitioning into their autumn expressions. As we await the peak of fall colors, we tend to forget the wildflowers, assuming they are ‘done’ for the season. What if the wildflowers are not done? What if they are just now taking their truest, most beautiful form? Maybe wildflowers are like humans in that they do not become their most genuine selves until they have weathered a few storms.
‘No spring or summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.’ -John Donne The Mountains Have Seen it All
By Sybil Barnes There’s a saying you might have heard - “The only thing constant is change.” Sometimes I wonder how true that is. When I look up at Longs Peak or Twin Owls or the thumb on Prospect, I can imagine that I’m Patsey Estes or Isabella Bird or Esther Burnell seeing them for the first time. There are many other places in Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park about which I can’t say the same. But aside from a radical change in population of both visitors and residents and the associated buildings, roads, and services that go along with that increase, what changes have truly happened here? Let’s start with some of the history we know. Perhaps as a way to escape from the turmoil of the approaching Civil War, Patsey Estes and her family chose to live a hardscrabble life of subsistence ranching in a place with no neighbors. She had followed her husband from a relatively comfortable life in Missouri to this place he had discovered on a hunting trip and thought was beautiful. As far as we know, none of her letters or other writings exist so it’s impossible to say if she shared that feeling. This open space offered sweeping views with no neighbors. Though there was an abundance of wild game and fish to eat, it was a lonely life. The Estes family only had each other and the rare visitor for entertainment. Joel and his sons made trips to Denver to sell meat and skins but Patsey was home with the other children and a million chores. They eventually moved on to New Mexico after selling their “improved” property with its panoramic views from Longs Peak to Eagle Rock. Isabella Bird shared a lot of her feelings when she arrived as one of the first tourists to enjoy the hospitality of Grif Evans and his family. Evans had only moved up the hill from Lyons to take over the Estes holdings and was one of the first to recognize the potential of entertaining visitors as a revenue source. Ms Bird had a horse and was interested in exploring the area both on horseback and on foot. As a visitor, she had few of the responsibilities of providing a home or entertainment. Her writings may have encouraged an Irish nobleman to explore this part of Colorado while he was on a hunting trip to Wyoming. Unfortunately, no known record exists of the guests at Lord Dunraven’s hotel on Fish Creek. There are a few photographs which show women “taking the air” in front of the hotel. And it is known that the Irish Earl was not accompanied by his wife or daughters on most of his American trips. He spent his days riding and hunting and his evenings with food and drink. His visits were mostly made in the summer or fall but he left a land manager here year round. By the beginning of the 20th century, there was a town forming in the open space that had been named Estes’ Park by the newspaper editor, William Byers. Ranchers like the MacGregors and the McCreerys and the James and Hondius families arrived in the later 1880s and had become used to the conveniences of a general store and weekly mail delivery. More and more dudes were discovering the delights of a summer spent in the cool mountains. Shops selling souvenir photographs were opening at the confluence of the Big Thompson and Fall River in the space between Elkhorn Lodge and the MacGregor holdings. Horses and hiking were the main means of transportation and a pleasant way to explore the area. Other families, including the Spragues and Chapmans had ventured further west and created another small community in what they called Willow Park. Private cabins were built on the eastern hillside with sweeping views of the meadow between the moraines. Fish were abundant in the Thompson River and Frank Bartholf grazed his cattle further to the south on what would become the Bear Lake Road. Flora Stanley first came to Estes Park with her husband in 1909. He saw the potential for growth and development as a summer tourist destination. He had the discretionary income to build a fine hotel and create an infrastructure of utilities for the town that had been platted by Abner Sprague and was being marketed by Loveland businessman C.H. Bond and others. The hotel needed electric lights and indoor plumbing, so Stanley funded a power plant and a sewage system which would serve the entire village. He donated some of his property for public use as a community park and gathering place. Flora had vision problems so she was unable to comment on the view. She was probably delighted that her husband’s respiratory problems were solved by spending summers in the mountains but possibly just as happy to return to Maine for nine months of the year. When Esther Burnell and her sister Elizabeth came west on a summer vacation they discovered another settlement in the Tahosa Valley at the base of Longs Peak. The young women were hired to be nature guides at Enos Mills’ lodge. After a summer spent climbing mountains and identifying wildflowers, Elizabeth went to California to continue her education and Esther stayed to homestead property on the Fall River Road. She married Enos and became the mother of Enda Mills Kiley. After Enos’ untimely death, Esther and Enda carried on his legacy by running the Longs Peak Inn and making sure that his nature writings stayed in print and his ecological philosophy was brought forward through the 20th century. Growth of the town of Estes Park has always been limited by the topography of the area. Many people wanted to visit in the summer but not that many wanted to spend a windy and cold winter here. That changed with the construction of the Adams Tunnel to bring water from the wetter west side to the plains of eastern Colorado. When Bertha Ramey’s family moved from Lyons to start providing insurance and related services to the businesses and homeowners, the land where the Estes family had settled was still a meadow with the Big Thompson River meandering through it. By 1950, that property had been flooded by a reservoir called Lake Estes. Now when visitors make the last turn down Park Hill, they see water reflecting the mountain ranges beyond. Also by the 1950s, a few hundred people had decided to spend the winter months in Estes Park. Many of them worked for the National Park Service. Others spent the slower months getting their tourist accommodations ready for the next season. By the 1970s, young business people were seeing the potential for attracting visitors all year round. Though the main business district of the town was still only three blocks long, development had reached across all the flat spaces and was beginning to creep up the sides of the surrounding mountains. Geologic time outlasts any kind of human time. And the mountains can withstand climate change more easily than any animal or plant life form. In a hundred years or a thousand years, the approaches to Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park will still be up from the lower elevations with a last drop to a valley surrounded by mountains. Whether your view is of Twin Sisters or Lumpy Ridge or Ypsilon or our favorite fourteener, Longs Peak, and your family has been here for four generations or you are one of the four million who visited during the last year, remember these words from a song by Cowboy Brad, who we also know as Longs Peak Ranger Brad Fitch, “We live in Paradise.” (This article appeared in a slightly different form in the Rocky Mountain Conservancy newsletter. Are you a member of the Conservancy?) ‘If I fall asleep right now, I can get four full hours of sleep before my hike across the divide tomorrow. Unfortunately, I’m still at work!’ It’s that time of year when those of us who are lucky enough to live, work and recreate in the Estes Valley are stumbling around like a bunch exhausted zombies living on a diet of coffee, craft beer, beef jerky and gummy worms.
It is the season of back-to-back 4 am wake-up calls followed by showers at the Rec Center and eight hours of slinging beers at The Rock Inn. I can’t remember the last time I sat down for a meal with my boyfriend. I think we maybe shared some bleary-eyed sips of early morning coffee earlier this week. I love the busyness of it all, especially knowing that it is the final push before we transition into fall. I’ve heard folks say that if you’re lucky enough to live in the mountains, you are lucky enough. That is certainly true and I am so grateful for my good fortune! On top of that, I have been blessed with a strong body, a (relatively) sound mind, and a job and coworkers (and customers!) who make work fun. I get to play outside almost every day. Sometimes I am not sure what I did to deserve all this and I even feel a little guilty about it. The best way I know how to thank the universe for all I’ve been given is to practice gratitude every single day and share experiences and knowledge with others. Lately I’ve noticed people declining my invitations to get outside because they feel intimidated. To me, this is hilarious and these concerns are completely unfounded. I have never considered myself an athlete. Being able to walk a long way in the mountains carrying a heavy pack does not make a person an athlete. It does make one a good candidate for manual labor, though. My late husband was a classic sandbagger, forever lowering me down ice climbs that were grades above my ability level or taking me on adventures that lasted twice as long as he remembered, causing me to show up to more than one shift at work unshowered and wearing ski pants. While I wouldn’t change a single one of those zany experiences, I am very careful to respect other people’s tolerances for risk and suffering. For me, getting out into the mountains with someone is about the time spent with that person. Whether we are going across the continental divide, up Longs Peak or walking to Mills Lake, time in the mountains is for sharing laughter, stories and sometimes tears. It is certainly not about getting to some destination I have likely visited many times before that will still be there next week or even next year. All that being said, I am so grateful for the amazing adventure partners who have helped me expand my comfort zone. I, too, love seeing people push themselves beyond what they believed they could do. Let’s all continue to encourage one another to reach new heights while respecting boundaries, limitations and fears. Cheers to the end of another great season and to the memories made and friendships strengthened as we continue to navigate the peaks and valleys of this beautiful life. Early Estes Park - A Search for Opportunity
By Sybil Barnes This is a forward I wrote for a section of a 2007 publication featuring the photographs of James Frank. The library still has a couple copies or you might be able to find it on a used book site. “Magic in the Mountains: Estes Park, Colorado.” JJ has had a varied career in Estes as a musician, extraordinary photographer, author, purveyor of First Light postcards, and the original owner with his wife Tamara of the Aspen and Evergreen Gallery. Another major contributor to this book was Paul Firnhaber and several other local “celebrities” wrote introductory forwards to various sections. I’ve made a few minor changes to to the original text: History is how we keep track of our memories. Because few of us can interpret the cry of the hawk or the chitter of a chipmunk or the song of a waterfall, and fewer can even hear the voices of rock or tree, our history is told through human vocabulary. We use our personal experience and recollections of experiences handed down through generations of the people who live in our town to place an order and possible meaning on what may be random events. History is the story of a search for opportunity. The earliest opportunists who came to this area were the people we now identify as PaleoIndians. These nomadic people enjoyed the abundance of wild game and respite from the heat of summer on the high plains. Even then it was a transitory experience. Not many were willing to spend the winters in a place they called “the land of many snows. As civilization and settlers moved westward looking for gold or other means of economic survival, the opportunists tried to figure ways to sell the beauty of the area by offering places to stay for renewal and recreation away from the city. Some of those early settlers were able to stay year-round and leave their names and descendants to guide the town into new ventures and new centuries. Others moved on, leaving only whispers of memory. Estes Park has been discovered and rediscovered, touted as a tourist mecca and vilified as a tourist trap. Estes Park has seen boom and bust, the heartbreak of lives lost through floods and mountaineering accidents, the dreams of scores of entrepreneurs and retirees. Estes Park has been summer home or vacation retreat to millionaires, presidential candidates, company executives, school teachers, artists, rock stars,and hippies, as well as hundreds of thousands of “just plain folks.” Through it all, local residents have drawn solace from the beauty of the surrounding mountains and a pioneering spirit which recognizes that material goods are not the only reward for lives spent. History is a daily experience. And it is a reciprocal one. Your history becomes ours and ours becomes yours. August first is my 40th birthday. Moving into 2019, I made it my goal to hit 40 feeling awesome, at least physically. No diets, no scale, no strict workout routine. Instead, I promised myself that I would try to move my body every day.  While I’ll admit that I’m kind of limping over the finish line with two toenails about to fall off, a skinned knee and a sore shoulder from my latest bicycle wreck, I am feeling healthy, fit and happy. I’m blessed to live in a place where there is no shortage of insanely fit people with whom to ski, trail run, mountain bike or rock climb. And even though I’m mainly there for the hot tub, you can even catch me doing bicep curls at the gym once in a while. I am filled with gratitude for my first 40 years on this precious planet. I am thankful for every single moment, good and bad, that have landed me in this spot. My Gosh, I am one lucky girl. I love these mountains. I can’t believe I get to live in this magical place with a wonderful man and amazing dogs. My body is healthy enough to allow me to go wherever my legs may take me. Summits, lakes, streams, trails, meadows, wildflowers and snowflakes are my religion. I didn’t need a lesson on appreciating each day and living in the moment, but the universe decided to give me one anyway on October 25, 2016 when my husband passed away in a climbing accident. After surviving the initial shock, anger, depression, anxiety and general hell that was my life for that first year, I can look back and honestly say that I am better for having gone through that, even grateful for it. What a strange thing, I know, to feel gratitude for a loss of this magnitude. I believe our highest highs are directly proportionate to our lowest lows. I know what it feels like to be in the fetal position, sobbing on the bathroom floor mid panic attack at 2 am. Those dark moments are a stark contrast to my current reality. These days Indian Paintbrush in that perfect shade of reddish-pink seem to jump out of the hillsides to greet me. The sweet vanilla-caramel smell of a Ponderosa Pine is richer now. I savor the sound of a quaking aspen grove or the cool spray of a waterfall like never before. I live and love differently now. I don’t get my panties in a bundle over the little things, but I also know how to stand up for myself and make my opinions heard. It has taken me these entire forty years to really come into my own. I feel strong, smart and beautiful. I feel confident enough to strip down to my skivvies and jump into an alpine lake without thinking twice about how my body might look. I love my scars, my freckled shoulders, my tanned legs and white belly. I’ve learned to love my body for what it can do instead of for the way that it looks. Rather than an extravagant trip or big celebration, I plan to spend my 40th birthday hiking with my girlfriends in Wild Basin. There’s nothing I’d rather do and no place I’d rather be! I’ve shed a lot of tears over the fact that my husband can’t be here for my special day, but in the same moments I am so grateful that I have such an amazing boyfriend who wants to share this chapter in my life. I have no idea how I got so lucky. There are not words to thank every single person with whom I’ve crossed paths in these last 40 years, especially my fellow mountain women!!! Here’s to the next 40 years of loving these mountains, loving myself and embracing the ups and downs, as I’m sure there will be many more!  Rules of the Road By Sybil Barnes
I’ve had a Colorado driver’s license for more than fifty years. Not many things make me feel as old as that sentence does. Back in the day, one could get a learner’s permit at 15 and that meant driver’s ed was on the curriculum for sophomore or junior year in high school. One day a week we watched those gruesome state patrol videos with totally mangled cars and police officers giving us a serious look and a sonorous lecture about how dangerous it is to drink and drive. Or drive with a car full of teenagers trying to distract you by asking who your current crush was or whether you were going to the basketball game or the wrestling match. The other four days three of us at a time actually got to go out in a car with the teacher, who was also the football coach and the counsellor. The rest of us had study hall. Since there were more than twenty of us in the class, that meant we had a chance to be in the car every two weeks. And since it was a 90 minute period, that meant we each had about 20 minutes of time behind the wheel. Some days we drove around the downtown practicing how to parallel park and how to stop at red or yellow lights. Other days we went out in the country and learned about how to pass other cars or change a flat tire. The driver’s ed car had a “three on the tree” manual transmission, which was quite a challenge for some of us. Towards the end of the quarter when we all had mastered the basics, we each got a full period to be the driver on Skyline Drive, a one-way scenic loop along a hogback to the west of town. That was a challenge for those of us who felt the road was a little too narrow and winding on the way up. And we all had to learn to use a lower gear instead of riding the brake all the way down the steep east side, which we used as a sledding hill in the winter. I think about driver’s ed a lot when I go to Boulder or Loveland or over to Allenspark or Grand Lake. One of the first things we learned was “look at least three to five car lengths in front of you and scan both sides of the road as well as the traffic lanes.” This tip comes in handy when the elk or deer pop up from the ditch to cross the road and also when the car, two cars in front of you, decides to stop to turn into an unmarked driveway. Another tip was “try to keep a consistent speed.” My favored speed is 40-50 mph on dry pavement. There are only a few places where this means I am going under a posted speed limit of 55. Many times it means I am going over the posted speed limit of 35 for a curve. I have driven the four egress routes from Estes Park at least once a week and sometimes up to once or twice a day for many decades. I have some muscle memory about where those curves are. As long as the road is dry, the posted speed limit is conservative. When the roads are icy or snow-packed and/or when there’s fog, 35 mph is possibly too fast for any section of the road. My father used to say “Don’t take your half of the road out of the middle.” People who aren’t used to driving on curvy mountain roads tend to hug the center line and sometimes slide over it, so I usually tend toward the fog line on the outside of the road. It takes 30 minutes to get to Lyons. Plan for that. Once upon a time I had a low-slung muscle car which one of my friends described as moving like “a swift gray rain cloud.” In that car, late at night when there was no traffic, I’ve gotten to or from Lyons in 22 minutes. But I’ve also been in a line of traffic from Lyons to Estes for the Scottish Festival or some other event when it took 90 minutes to see Lake Estes. Now I have a Subaru. Even if you pass all the looky-loos going down/east on the straightaway at Meadowdale, you will probably end up behind somebody else before you get to the round house or Tedderville. And you will definitely end up just in front of the same car at the stoplight in Lyons. Or maybe you’ll be the lucky one who catches the attention of the Colorado State Patrol or the Larimer County Sheriff. The next place to pass legally is about nine miles out of town, near the house on the hill which used to have an entrance gate marked “Ensenada.” (There’s another way to identify yourself as “of a certain age.” You tend to make references to places and/or things that don’t exist anymore.) You can hope that the lollygagger in front of you in the rental car with fleet license plates will be intimidated by your aggressive tailgating and pull over before that at the Homestead Meadows trailhead parking lot, also known as Lion Gulch. But if you’re behind me and I’m already going 15 miles over the speed limit, I don’t think you need to pass. Cool your jets and enjoy the scenery. Just this past week there have been two crashes at the passing lanes just west of Lyons. Both resulted in fatalities. Considering the volume of traffic that uses this road, it surprises me that it doesn’t happen more often. As they used to say on some 1980s tv show (maybe Barney Miller or maybe Hill Street Blues) - Be safe out there by Rebecca Detterline Hiking to Ouzel Lake? I’m gonna need two jackets, rain pants, hat, gloves, first aid kit, water purification system, hand sanitizer, map, compass, sunscreen, headlamp, too many snacks and probably some wine. Running to Ouzel Lake? Well, I’ve got half a liter of water and five squares of toilet paper. No matter what size of pack I choose for a particular outing, I always seem to fill it. Outside of my very first solo backpacking trip to Lawn Lake (good thing I brought a four person tent), it’s hard for me to recall many times that I’ve truly overpacked for a backcountry outing. Underpacking, now that’s my real forte. There was the time I hiked Ouzel and Ogallala Peaks on a bluebird day without sunglasses or a cap. Once my friend Ben and I spent three days at the Hutcheson Lakes with plenty of Cup O’ Noodles and dehydrated ravioli, but no pot to cook them in. (He forgot shoes and hiked the whole time in Chaco sandals. He did bring a bottle of Sailor Jerry and a copy of Jimmy Buffet’s ‘A Salty Piece of Land,’ though.) And let’s not forget when I decided against bringing pants to Desolation Peaks on the windiest day I have ever experienced. (This tennis skirt should be fine!) No harness at the base of the Cables Route on Longs Peak in Winter conditions? Been there. While the underpacking situations are definitely more memorable, overpacking is much more common and something the majority of hikers could work on. While it’s important to have the essentials, hauling unnecessary gear up the trail just slows you down and frustrates your hiking partners. Do your friends a favor and check the weather forecast. If it’s a high of 75 degrees and 0% precipitation, do you really your down ski jacket and winter gloves? I try to consider the bare minimum and then throw in one extra layer just to be safe. Also, start off a little bit chilly. Don’t be that person that needs to stop five minutes from the trailhead to de-layer while everyone who dressed appropriately to start off with gets cold waiting for you. How much water do you really need to carry? Do you know how much three liters of water weighs? Me neither, but it’s way more than one liter and a SteriPen.(I love my SteriPen! Worth every penny!) Many trails offer lots of delicious rocky mountain snowmelt. A quick glance at your map will let you know where you can resupply. Get on the pre-hydration program and chug water the day before any big day in the backcountry. I have a strict ‘no booze’ rule the day before any big day in the mountains. As a bartender, I’ve seen so many people put down three pints of beer six hours before their first-ever Longs Peak attempt. Why? Start off hydrated and you won’t have lug a bunch of water uphill while fighting dehydration and a mild hangover. Only one person in the group needs to carry a first aid kit. If there is a situation that requires multiple triangle bandages and SAM splints, I’m probably going to send someone out for help. With these simple tips you can easily lighten your load or better yet, make more room in your pack for salami, cheese and red wine! Is this Brave New World of Blogging for me? by Sybil Barnes
I don’t remember when I learned to read. It seems like something I have always done and always enjoyed. I can be transported to Oz or Everest or the blue highways at the turn of any page. I find the list of ingredients on cereal boxes fascinating. In addition to being a reader, I always thought that I was a writer. I wrote letters to my friends and kept a diary until I began to call it a journal. I wrote little plays for the neighbor kids to perform in the backyard, created graphic novels from pictures cut out of the pages of catalogs and magazines, and thought up dialog to speak when we played cowboys and indians at school recess. In fifth grade, I wrote a haiku which was published in a national anthology. I can’t remember it now. Maybe it went something like: From the car, I see Ponies on the grass. Alas They do not see me. Were the judges impressed that a fifth grader would try to paraphrase or plagiarize Gertrude Stein? Am I kidding myself that I knew who Gertrude Stein was in 1960? Maybe she was an entry in the 1950 Book of Knowledge which was our home reference source. I just liked the way grass and alas sounded together. And I thought poetry, even Japanese poetry, had to rhyme. I realized much later that someone having their name in an anthology probably guaranteed another sale of the book. Maybe more than one if they had a large family. Skip ahead another decade. I graduated from college but I didn’t want to live in a city. So I came back to the mountains and got a job in food service. Then I bought a book store. After the 90-day economy of Estes Park and my own propensity to spend more than whatever profits I made in the remaining 275 days on entertainment of various forms convinced me that I wasn’t cut out to be a businesswoman, I was hired at the library. I still wasn’t writing anything. When anybody asked, I said I was working on a children’s book about my cat. So many years past that early success, I’m still not a writer. I get up before dawn to walk dogs or drive the mail to Allenspark and then I walk some more dogs or go to the library or a book group and then I walk some more dogs or scoop some litter boxes and go out to eat and maybe sit down with somebody else’s novel and fall asleep before the 10 o’clock news. Some afternoons or nights I go to movies and try to stay awake through them and the drive home from Boulder. Most evenings, I wake up on the couch to some 4 a.m. infomercial or a whining dog who needs to go out. After I pick up the book I have inevitably dropped on the floor, I start all over again. But maybe a deadline and a word limit will be the ticket to productivity. I’m only the length of this century late to the party. And I hope I won’t just add to the general detritus of your day. Or send you down a rabbit hole that will prevent you from realizing your own dreams or projects. Let’s just see how that goes.
We moved to Canon City, Colorado partly because my brother flunked first grade and my parents didn’t want him to have to repeat it here. I don’t think he ever learned to read very well. We came back every summer. That makes me eligible for the “almost local” group. And after college I moved here because my experiences in the real world qualified me as a country mouse and eligible for the “stay here” group. I’ve had jobs in every sector of the hospitality industry from scrubbing toilets to greeting customers at restaurants to owning a small business. My favorite career was as the local history librarian at the Estes Park Public Library and the reference librarian at Rocky Mountain National Park. I have a listing in the Library of Congress for a Story Corps interview with Enda Mills Kiley and also for my pictorial history of Estes Park, an Images of America book published by Arcadia in 2010. I’m interested in local history, current events, movies, plays and music, books, traveling, and random thoughts I hear or see on radio or tv or the street or even FaceBook. Maybe some of my posts will include those topics or others.
While I am always excited to see a place for the first time, attain a new summit or fish in a lake I’ve never visited, spring is the time of year to find comfort in the familiar; to return to the trails we’ve hiked dozens, if not hundreds of times. What a gift it is to revisit a favorite tree or boulder, to note the ever-melting snow drifts and enjoy the spring wildflowers as they begin to bloom seemingly one species at a time.
After the flood of 2013, the NPS put in a beautiful new bridge below the falls to replace the one that was washed away. I see a lot of folks admiring Ouzel Falls from this vantage point. It’s a lovely view, but an extra couple of minutes of rock-hopping and ducking under tree limbs will take you right up to the base of the falls. Regardless of what else may be going on in my life, any day I get to feel the spray of a waterfall is a pretty good day. Once the snow melts out, hikers can continue on an unmarked trail up to the big beautiful valley through which Ouzel Creek meanders before plummeting 40 feet and joining the North Saint Vrain Creek. This valley, which lies within the scar of the Ouzel Burn of 1978, is a lovely place to spend an afternoon fly fishing for small brook trout or simply enjoying the sounds of the gurgling creek while Ouzel Peak towers above you in the distance. Like me, the young aspens and fireweed in this area got their start on this beautiful planet during the summer of 1979. Nature presents us with many silent metaphors. The juxtaposition of charred trees and wildflowers reminds us that what appears completely void of life can be reborn. Calypso Orchids alongside a trail carpeted in last year’s dead aspen leaves give hope that that which appears to be completely void of life may be just moments from blooming. May we embrace this season of renewal and awakening with gratitude for the quiet lessons from Mother Earth. This is the season to return to return to the places that have greeted us year after year. Spring is a wonderful time to rediscover the lower elevation hikes in RMNP while reflecting on the past year and looking forward to the one that lies ahead. In addition to Ouzel Falls, my favorite spring hikes include Fern Falls, Bridal Veil Falls, West Creek Falls and MacGregor Falls. Mount Lady Washington is a lovely (although much more strenuous) springtime favorite at 13,281’. While the high peaks remain guarded by the lingering snow, I choose to embrace the springtime and its gifts, knowing that the season to stand atop summit after summit is just around the corner. “Hope is not born on mountain tops, but in valleys when you’re looking to the heights and peaks that you’ve yet to climb.”  Alpine Spring Beauty It's time for Ask Dr. Day Hikes: Dear RMDH, Hi! Do you know if flowers are starting to bloom along the Fern Lake Trail? ML KD Thanks for the question ML KD! The trail is definitely hike ready to The Pool and up to Fern Falls. Flowers are just starting to bloom along the lower section of the Fern Lake trail. I saw a few patches of Alpine Spring Beauties and the yellow Hollygrape mostly (and dandelions). And the aspens are starting to leaf out. As I drove into Moraine Park, I could see that the upper Big Thompson River had swelled to the top of the river banks from spring runoff, but has yet to flood the meadow. I also noticed that the parking at the Cub Lake trailhead was full at mid-day. mid-week in mid-May. The road to the Fern Lake trailhead was open and the parking lot there was full as well. As the photos below show, the trail to The Pool was snow free and dry, though not entirely runoff free. There were only a few snow patches of snow approaching Fern Falls and the Falls only had snow along the edges. I did not hike to Fern Lake but hikers coming sown said there was still a packed snow trail to the Lake and about knee deep snow if you stepped off the snow trail.
 Mourning Cloak Butterfly
 Flowering Creeping Hollygrape
 Fern lake trail approaching Fern Falls  Fern Falls Here is my introduction to Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado’s Crown Jewel. Spending time in Rocky has brought to me not only the world of climbing but the world of wildflowers. I have immensely enjoyed learning and expanding my knowledge of Rocky Mountain Wildflowers and had the honor of the Colorado Mountain Club to publish three pack guides I authored. The Alpine Flowers pack guide will be available in March, 2019. You never know how spending time in Rocky Mountain National Park will change your life forever! MY BEGINNING OF THE FINAL THREE It began innocently enough in 1974. That is when I came to Colorado for a summer job at the YMCA of The Rockies in Estes Park. I arrived from New Orleans, yes below sea level, in mid-May that year. Being a proper southern young lady I wanted to make a good impression on my new employer. I had worn a sleeveless silk dress, rather short as I recall, stockings and the cutest little heeled sandals you ever laid eyes on. It was approximately 30 degrees and spitting snow. I must tell you, my arrival ended up to be one of the scariest days of my young life. I recall saying to myself, “I have made a terrible mistake!”
From a short silk dress to summits, my progression came fast. By the end of that summer I had climbed most of the major peaks in Rocky Mountain National Park. Having graduated from college, I decided to stay in Colorado. You might say the rest is history, but it was not that simple. I lived in Estes Park for twelve years and climbed in Rocky year-round. I found myself focused on the major peaks, different routes with a few new peaks thrown in once in awhile. Then came a career move away from Colorado and my beloved mountains. To say I began grieving would be an understatement. I made the effort to spend a lot of my summers back in Rocky with “my” familiar peaks. In 2001, I returned to live full time again in Estes Park. Dorothy may have been on to something, “There is no place like home.” After completing the 54 Fouteeners in 2005, I was hit with a pain of guilt. I imagine you all know what it’s like to ignore a friendship. This was worse; it was like neglecting your own husband. After all, Rocky Mountain National Park was now my backyard! I began to rekindle my relationship with Rocky, started studying the map with new interest and curiosity.
Then, reality struck me hard. THE FINAL THREE were The Sharkstooth, Hayden Spire (both Class 5 technical climbs) and Pilot Mountain a difficult Class 4 climb. Had I set myself up for this? Shouldn’t the last peak be easy, like Estes Cone or Twin Sisters? I hadn’t climbed anything beyond Class 4 in years. I came to the realization that THE FINAL THREE were meant to be my grand finale. I needed a challenge; I wanted a challenge! I needed to gain my confidence back on the rope; I needed a plan. It sounds like I needed a lot! The Sharkstooth was the first of my FINAL THREE. My climbing partner and I left the parking lot at 3:45a.m. I once read that eighty percent of success is just showing up, I liked my chances.
As I climbed toward the summit tears were in my eyes. This was what it was about: I hadn’t gotten here because of a list, but because I had taken on the challenge of exploring the new. For me this comes with great joy, satisfaction and fulfillment. Next was Pilot Mountain, which thinking back, I over rated the difficulty. It was a fun Class 4 climb in Wild Basin. The ridge out to the summit is awesome and the view of Falcon Lake from the summit breath-taking! The last of the FINAL THREE was Hayden Spire. I had admired this peak from afar for decades, now I was coming close to standing on the summit.
Reflecting on THE FINAL THREE, I will forever remember the air beneath my feet, the sudden flight and song of finches above my head, the sense of inner relaxation and burst of excitement at the same moment and the incredible sound of the silence around me. THE FINAL THREE was my way of remembering Dick’s 20+ year companionship on these peaks. In the mountaineering world this is a speck. But it is my speck in my world and I am grateful for the opportunity to hold it in my heart. You may ask, is there anything left of that southern girl from 1974? I like to think so. My father was a riverboat captain; he lived with patience, endurance and perseverance. I like to think I gained these traits from him. And, oh yes, I still love wearing silk dresses (a little longer now) and cute heeled sandals.
Marlene has climbed Colorado’s 54 14ers, the 126 USGS named peaks in Rocky Mountain National Park and 44 State High Points. She has been a member of the Colorado Mountain Club since 1979 and is a member of the Colorado Native Plant Society. She teaches wildflower classes for the Rocky Mountain Conservancy and provides community programs to educate and promote stewardship for Colorado’s wildflowers. Marlene holds a Masters Degree in Social Work and a Certification in Addiction Counseling. She guides in Rocky Mountain National Park and enjoys sharing the scenery as well as her knowledge of the plant life and habitats the park has to offer. She is the author of Rocky Mountain Wildflowers 2Ed. and The Best Front Range Wildflower Hikes, and Rocky Mountain Alpine Flowers, published by CMC Press.
There's good hiking snow free at Wild Basin for a few miles, but only because the road to the Wild Basin trailhead is closed a mile before. That didn't stop an overflow parking lot of people from getting out on Sunday, people are anxious to get hiking. And the trail is mostly snow free and not terribly muddy up to Lower Copeland Falls. After that, it's a mix but drying out, up to the bridge over the North St. Vrain River. The river if also snow free up to that point, but only starting to swell with spring runoff. However, the final uphill stretch after the bridge quickly becomes snow covered, and it's slick going from there on.
The lower portion of the Deer Mtn trail is in great shape. But once in the trees, there was plenty of snow coverage, and it was slick. The legs are tense all the way up and down trying to stay upright. Once on the flat top portion, before the final summit push, the snowshoer from the last snow couldn't find the trail. So there are all kinds of people following the wanderings of this semi lost snowshoer, and as the the snow melts, people are walking over vegetation and postholing at fallen logs. But the wayward snow trail does eventually make it's way to the summit. Subscribe to Note from the Trail rockymountaindayhikes.com/deer-mountain-31.html  Hikers on the lower portion of the Deer Mtn trail, with part of The Mummy Range in view.
 The dramatic clouds that was forming on the Continental Divide would occasionally give birth to isolated snow showers which would sweep east. The Cub Lake trail starts as one of the lower elevation trails and a good one to hike early in the season. The trail yesterday was not really ready for hiking just yet. There were a few hike ready dry spots, but most of the trail was filled with spring run off and it was a trick navigating and rock hopping to stay out of the wet spots. Please be sure to click on an image to see it larger.
Two days after the Spring Equinox, Mother Nature announced spring had arrived in the mountains of Rocky Mountain National Park and the Estes Valley with a booming afternoon thunderstorm that resulted in a small amount of spring snow. There were already signs of spring around though. RMNP Trails was reporting the Hooker’s Townsend Daisy (Easter Daisy) already in full bloom along the sunny and low elevation Lumpy Ridge, there were reports of a bear in a tree in the Riverside Dr area, an aspen patch not far from the Beaver’s Meadow Visitor Center had started to bloom catkins, and chipmunks appeared around my bird feeder. The weather report is calling for more snow on Friday. It must be spring time in the Rockies. The trails in the lower montane regions of the Park are treacherous right now. The packed snow on the trails melt into a slush during the day but freeze into a glaze overnight. Either micro spikes or ice skates are needed. And if the ice does melt off, it often leaves a slimy muddy patch to slip and slide on, challenging ones aerobic agilities. If you really want a taste of spring now, it might be best to head for a trail down around Lyons. Otherwise, just head back up into winter in the subalpine Bear Lake area. That’s where I went. I wanted to make another try at Timberline Falls. On the morning I had planned to journey up, the skies were overcast and not looking good. So I thought I would wait a day for improved conditions. But, of course, by afternoon the
Even though it looked like winter, the day was warm and the conditions were starting to change. A squirrel scurried in front of me across the snow. It stopped briefly to consider me, but it seemed to be on a tight schedule and quickly disappeared. I trekked along in this first portion of the hike lost in thought about the different ways people connect with nature. For some, a journey into the high mountains is held with a quiet reverence. But children like to play in nature and seldom show such reverence. I thought about how reverence for nature seems to develop for them through their playfulness.
I resumed my hike up the snow filled drainage when a couple of skiers swooshed down, working to maintain control. They stopped briefly uphill from me and I asked them where they had skied from. They had gone up to Andrews Glacier but decided the conditions were not favorable, so they turned back. They had had a good day
led to the base of the drift where someone with snow shovels had mined out snow caves. The opening of one I checked out was small and I peaked in to see a small room that might cozily fit three or four people. Turning back to the main snow trail, another skier slid to a stop and asked how big the snow caves were. He was carrying an overnight pack and had spent the night out somewhere on the far end of The Loch. It had been a good night with out much wind. I
It was practically a windless day at The Loch and I found a seat beneath one of the wind twisted Bristle Pines and watched the clouds shift around. What ever blue sky there might have been over the peaks earlier was quickly disappearing. I pulled some
I packed up my pack and finished my trek to the snow covered Timberline Falls. The clouds were moving down on the peaks now so I turned to head back.  |
"The wild requires that we learn the terrain, nod to all the plants and animals and birds, ford the streams and cross the ridges, and tell a good story when we get back home." ~ Gary Snyder
Categories
All
“Hiking -I don’t like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains - not hike! Do you know the origin of the word ‘saunter?’ It’s a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, A la sainte terre,’ ‘To the Holy Land.’ And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.” ~ John Muir |
