I love the fall.
I bloom in fall.
Fall has always been my favorite time of year.
All that beauty is such a comfort – a feast!
Yet, I yearn.
I long.
I am lonely.
So much beauty cries out to be shared.
Category Archives: Hiking and outdoor beauty
The best years of my life
“Rock and roll I gave you all the best years of my life…” “There were times,” she said, “I thought those words with some bitterness, substituting names of individuals to whom I had given my all only to be taken for granted or ignored. I did give some of my best years to my children,” she continued, “the younger two anyway, but these, these years are the best years of my life.”
She explained she is now stronger, physically, mentally, emotionally. She hikes farther, travels independently more, indulges in an adventure or two without fear of what other people think. These are good years.
Our conversation happened at the apex of a jeep ride 1,000 feet above timberline. A forty-nine-year-old woman watched the speaker hop agilely in and out of the jeep, heard her describe the rigors of local hiking trails and refused to believe she was sixty-one. “I thought you were my age,” the younger woman insisted.
No young woman. I wouldn’t want to be 49 again for the world. Age has its benefits. These are the best years of my life! Catch me if you can, Rock and Roll! I’ve changed my direction.
The best leaders have a solid Plan B
Give me this mountain! I posted. Many of my friends thought I was out hiking a 14er. Justly accused of being obscure on social media, I was actually quoting song lyrics and an ancient Israeli spy story. I offered the caveat, Many of us face challenges in life. What is your mountain today? Truth be known, the mountain I was contemplating that particular day had to do with career change.
Story of my life, whether work or relationships A few days later, still referring to the same professional challenge, I commented, I may despair at first, but I am the type of person who rallies and then hangs in there past the point where all hope is gone. Not sure if this is tenacity or stubbornness; loyalty or denial.
Want to go to Crested Butte? Lift your spirits. Climb a mountain?countered a friend.
Our first day of hiking was perfect and according to plan; familiar to the two others and new to me. Lots of sunshine, a little rain and wading, awesome beauty, followed by hors d’oeuvres, a bus ride and dinner out. My hiking partner was returning to an old favorite haunt and wanted to show our host – a longtime resident of the area – a new trail. Day two we would log unexplored territory, a stream crossing in a Subaru and numerous negotiated puddles, a number of footwear and layer changes and hopefully a view over a divide. The weather forecast sunshine and a minuscule chance of rain. It rained all night. The drizzle continued but patches of blue sky made us hopeful. We forded the stream, negotiated puddles, forged ahead into the gathering clouds and pelting rain. Socked in. So much for trust in the weatherman. On the other hand, I had confirmed my trust in someone else. My hiking partner was an impeccable leader, someone to be trusted. In the first place, she confidently powered through the ford. Secondly, she knew when to turn around and turn around we did – instead of stubbornly forcing our original plan.
Our leader unrolled plan “B”, or should I say, unfurled plan “B” for it was grand and we joyously followed. For me it turned out to be a rapturously rejuvenating hike. We caught the chairlift up and then summited Mount Crested Butte on our own legs. We saw pikas, deer, chipmunks, mushrooms, blue spruce and vistas that spanned the Continental Divide peeping into Maroon Bells and myriad Colorado counties. We got as high as possible. 12,162 feet high. Colorado Rocky Mountain High – without the aid of any legal or illegal green pharmacy.
I learn a lot about myself when I hike. This time I acknowledged the type of leadership and companionship I prefer. Oh the places you can go with a trusted leader. Too many times I have followed where leadership was either unsure, experimental and tentative, or stubborn and brash. I cherish those who are innovative enough to forge ahead, patient enough to think and explain, and likewise know when to retreat and regroup. It is important to have options. Sometimes plan “B” is the perfect plan all along.
Of Rocks and Relationships
I am single. She is single. We’ve both been around the block a few times. A couple of those trips ended at the alter and ultimately in divorce for both of us. Through it all, we have remained friends. We are occasional traveling or hiking buddies.
Ouray is always a good idea and it could not have been a finer morning on the Perimeter Trail. We found access easily enough. All streets lead to trails and I had camped, content and solo, there a few weeks before. Layers off in the sun. Layers on in the shade. It was an active day as we made our accent, then cut across a meadow dotted with wild flowers. Carefully, we chose our footing while descending slick dark rocks with deep claw marks of a glacier. Deep gorges and a footbridge across a waterfall took our breath away and left us weak-kneed to tunnel through caverns and surmount a mega-sized flume with the aid of a stile. Trekking between the flume and a magnificent rock wall, I was suddenly overcome by the majesty of it all. I cast myself on the rock, embracing it with all the expansive wingspan I could muster. My heartbeat pressed into the comfort of sun warmed Precambrian.
“Oh God,” she cried out spontaneously, “Give me a man like this rock!” But what I was thinking was more along the lines of Jane Austen’s perspective when she writes Elizabeth Bennet to say, “Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men to rocks, and mountains?”
I hug trees. I pat rocks. I embrace nature. Nature embraces me. I am comforted.
Perception and decisions
Perception and Decisions We made decisions. We would go early. Three digit temperatures were expected later in the day. We would explore new terrain. We would not take our hiking poles. It would be added weight. We planned on two hours out and two back – a nice half-day hike. It was beautiful. The conversation was good. After a few miles and hours on the unmaintained, but easy to find trail, we realized we had been heading steeply up, on loose rock for some yards. Not for the first time, our goal seemed just around the next switchback. Time to consider the logistics and practicalities of our return. Up is often easier than down, particularly without hiking poles. We were well out of the shaded canyon by now and sweat gathered at the hairline. Time to go back, she said. Stay right here, said I. I will go just around the next bend and see if it opens up. More circuitous trail. We turned and slipped and grappled our way down the hillside, always cautious of loose rock and cactus. The agreed stopping point was a most beautiful section of riparian canyon where we paused for repast. Lunchtime! We found the shade and comfortable, flat rocks for each of us. I withdrew my lightening pad to use as seat. Hunger pangs had been gnawing for some time now. We unwrapped apples, peanut butter, Kind bars. She checked her watch. It was 9:00 a.m.
Leadership, perseverance and hiking
Leadership and Perseverance
It was 6:45 am and she was still sleeping in the neighboring room – with the door open for circulation. Should I wake her? Or should I steal out the door and commence hiking alone? She has been meeting fellow hikers fairly frequently at 7:00 am, I reasoned. So I texted, “Want to hike before it gets too hot?” We were at the trailhead by 7:30 – Gold Star to Wildwood – not a maintained trail but we were at least familiar with both ends. We dropped a car at Wildwood and set out for adventure. We got beauty. Red rock outcroppings and rock formations galore – all the features you never notice from the busy valley below. We followed the path, we followed washes, we followed wildlife trails. We got back on the beaten path and made our way along “the bench.” We confirmed that desert bighorn live here – all over the place. “You are a good trail finder,” she said. I nodded. Actually, I usually can sense where people need to go. I am also pretty good at getting them there. “People have not always acknowledged that in the rest of my life,” I said. She affirmed it was worth the steady ascent at the beginning of the trail. We found a random boulder. “I want to be on top that rock!” she said. And she did. We were not travelling an officially maintained trail and somehow we lost the usually travelled path. “I bet it is above us,” I said. “I bet it is below,” she replied. We cut straight overland through cacti, brush, chinle and talus. Then, the inevitable happened, she lost patience. “You are now fired as trail finder,” she jeered. “Where have I heard that before?” I thought sarcastically. Yet, 30 feet later, we stepped out on an unmistakably well-used trail. Some yards further on, we joined our destination trail, familiar and official. Another mile of rugged downhill hiking and we were at the car, fist punching the air, “We did it! We did it!” Hooray for us! Four hours of Wednesday morning well spent, followed by salad at an establishment that glorifies local produce.
A Hike and Write Challenge
She threw down the gauntlet in such a casual way via Facebook private message. “Why don’t you,” she said, “Write an essay like this about our hike today?” Very well. I love to hike. I love to write. The only problem is, the example she attached is that of a well-known uncategorical naturalist, wilderness lover and advocate. So what am I supposed to say? “Move over Edward Abbey, I am here to write poetically about today’s hike with another great old broad – a regular rock toucher – a tree hugger – a lover of dirt in the great outdoors and fastidious, clean, professional detail indoors”
Contemporary that I am, I am no Meloy, Childs or Tempest. In fiction, I write about the philosophical struggles of relationships; girl meets boy, nefarious religion tamed, childhood injustices overcome. Truth is, the best way to ferret out these bits of philosophical thought and what I really think is to take a hike. Sometimes a stroll by running water, other times rigorous switchbacks on high desert boulders, and still less frequently, a hike with a friend.
“I believe that there are semblances between seemingly disparate ideas if we can stand back and see a larger picture.” Terry Tempest Williams
Very well then, I whole-heartedly agree. I take up the challenge – daily.
I thought I was going crazy, but I’m just growing older
Colorado Rocky Mountain high hiking early on a hazy summer morning may find you more than a little bit high – you may be positively loopy. I thought I was going crazy.
To begin with, I rose 45 minutes earlier on my day off just to take a hike with a friend. We both needed a break. Real Estate has been a tough business these past few years. My management job is caught somewhere between the vision and the reality. We arranged a luxury hike – my car was parked at the lower trailhead and someone was dropping us off at the upper. All you have to do upon completing a luxury hike is get in your waiting car and go out to lunch. I parked my car, retrieved my knapsack, double-checked that I locked my car and climbed into the backseat of the waiting vehicle.
Secondly, on our way to the trailhead, we passed a late model abandoned car parked eerily at right angels to the side of the road, both front tires in the ditch, obstructing an entire lane, which was somewhat unsettling.
When we arrived at the drop-off point, our elevation gain had been roughly two-thousand feet over that of the valley below where we live. It usually takes more than that to make me lightheaded, but hey, there’s a first time for everything and I felt the teeniest bit dizzy.
Our driver pulled into a space at the trailhead. We grabbed our daypacks – complete with 2 liter water reservoirs – and exited the car. I fished in a side pocket of my pack for a phone to call and report the abandoned vehicle. My friend beat me to it and dialed the proper authority. I began to rummage for my camera. Must have a photo documenting the start of our trek. “Want me to take your picture?” she asked. Last time we hiked together I had the camera and she used her cell phone. I shook my head and continued digging through my pack. Our driver was gone. “Well, you are going to have to do all the picture taking today,” I conceded. “I don’t have my camera. It must have fallen out in the car seat.”
I felt a bit confused. I distinctly remembered stuffing it in a side pocket of the pack before leaving home. Perhaps it fell out in my own car seat before I transferred baggage. My usually conscientious nature was beginning to manifest a bit of tarnish. This particular friend is always picking up on details others miss, so when she whipped out a camera nearly identical to mine a quarter mile into the hike; I thought she was sporting with me. “Did I lay it on a rock when I pulled my phone out?” I asked myself. Aloud I said, “Hey, your camera is just like mine!” She replied innocuously and continued to snap occasional photos.
Her preference is wildflowers. I usually favor unique rock formations and light.
Pleasant weather and good conversation conspired to make the miles go fast. Hot and perspiring, we climbed in my car at the end of the trail. I checked all the seats. No camera. After delivering my friend to her front door, I proceeded home to empty my backpack and retrace my steps of the morning. Still no camera. Such a shame if it was lost. This one recently replaced its earlier model, same color predecessor which wore out after four years’ daily use. It seems it is rather expensive to be going slowly crazy. What essential item would I loose next? It was a great hike and nothing to show for it!
A few hours later I received an email which said in part, “-and thanks for the camera. Mine was still unused, deep in the other pocket. Noticed this when I went to download the photos.”
So. I am happy to report I am not going crazy after all. I was coming down with a capricious cough and – – I am getting older. Happy Birthday to me. I have my camera back.