Tuesday, August 17
Soaking & chatting

Laundry and chores in the a.m. and then a nice long afternoon at the springs, our final opportunity to enjoy those odiferous warm waters. While in a 104-degree pool, we got into conversation with a Columbus, Ohio, couple; all of us managed to get overhet because we were enjoying the talk so much that no one wanted to interrupt it.

He was retired from the faculty of a Methodist seminary and she continues to work as a dietician at a large teaching hospital. He reminded me a bit of Dad W. when he got teary telling touching dog stories. The man is fluent in German and Latin, at least, has visited ancestral homes in Germany, and was as interesting a conversationalist as I’ve run across in a long time.

Unfortunately, when we finally tore ourselves away before we fainted from the heat, our new friend took a nasty fall on the flagstone walk. Nothing broken, but surely sore and bruised today. The walks are not slick but somehow are relatively treacherous - Leslie take note for your visit in October. I’ve seen several people fall; in fact, I was one of them last year when I slipped going down the steps. It happens very quickly. I sported a hip-to-ankle bruise for a while afterward.

The springs sights for the day were the cleverly balanced rock cairns built in the middle of the river and the little green grass snake that got lots of notice as it was an unpaid visitor to the spa.














To polish off the day, we dined outdoors at the Dogwood Cafe, our favorite from previous trips. Their menu could be from anywhere in Louisiana with gator, okra, green beans with bacon, grits and the like - we love it!

Wednesday, August 18
Homeward bound musings

8:05 a.m.: we’re on the road after a nice farewell from Junior Nation and his wife whose name I have forgotten. They invited us to stop and see them in Lawton, Oklahoma. Junior and wife were two “doors” down from us at the RV park. Between was Junior’s sister, Trula and her husband, Chuck, from Texas. They spend their summers here. We are among the very few non-Texans in the park. Colorado is a favored summer getaway for those from the great state of.

I heard via email that our Littlefield friends left for home yesterday; they were up closer to Leadville; another of the sisters left just before that from visiting the third sibling near Denver. The Littlefield sisters are the ones who answered my newspaper query years ago and sent me my great grandmother Julia Winans Kelley’s Bible that their father had saved for 40 years waiting for a Kelley family member to show up.

We will definitely stay at the Blanco River RV Park when we return to Pagosa. It is a lovely grassy place right on the river and with minimal traffic noise. Wonderful clean facilities and the clientele are among the nicest we’ve encountered anywhere. It will require reservations as it is mostly full.

When I was researching where to go when we left our first RV site here, I saw this one and Acres Green as possibilities. I chose Blanco River because it had the better website. As it turns out, the two were formerly one. The story goes like this: it was begun as a partnership. Within two years, the relationship went sour, so they dissolved the business and split the park lengthwise, which is how it remains today, but with different owners. Absenting directional signs, a person would think it’s all one and the same. Odd but it seems to work.

Ray, the current owner, told us that when the two original partners were still there, there was considerable rancor; if one guy’s renter walked on the other guy’s road, he would come out and yell at them. Amazing how silly we can be.

Rowdy did his usual mopey cringe (or cringey mope) when we began to pack up this morning even though I told him we were going home. I think he would rather teleport than spend the day in the truck. Truthfully, it sounds pretty attractive to me, too, but I enjoy seeing the sights more than he.

We are soon on the Jicarilla Apache Reservation following U.S. Highway 64.

Okay, I’m back and it’s now noon o’clock and much has occurred in the meantime. Never been exactly sure what “meantime” means exactly but we’ll save that for later cogitation. There we were toolin’ along Highway 64 when I noted a road sign that called it Narrow Gauge Road. Hmmm . . . I had a bit earlier said something about it not seeming right, but C was sure it was only a moniker given to the highway because it was passing through the tiny town of Dulce.

Just as I wondered aloud if we were actually following a narrow gauge railroad bed, we spied ahead a defunct railroad bridge and an old water tower left from steam train days. No traffic in sight so we perform a quick middle-of-the-road stop so I can take a photograph. Proceeding, abruptly we run out of pavement and see the dirt road beginning a winding journey into the hills - this can’t be a good thing!

Fortunately, just before the serious winding gets going, we find a place to turn our rig around and get pointed back whence we came. A bicyclist engaged me in conversation, offering comfort in the observation that she sees folks miss that under-signed turn at the four-way stop numerous times.

Great -- we’re not alone. That’s the one thing I’ve come to understand in this life. It is literally impossible to be the first person to do anything, no matter how creatively doltish it may seem.

At any rate, it was interesting to drive through Dulce because it’s the site of one of many genealogical mysteries. Why, when he lived in Pagosa Springs at the time, did Lewis Beemer Rhodimer, brother of my great grandfather, Charles Bradner Rhodimer, go there to get married? A small thing but one I wish I could find an answer for. It seems even odder because of the town’s location on the reservation.

As it turns out, regaining our chosen route on 64 was not the best thing that happened today. It is a narrow winding road much in need of construction. Indeed, a lot of it is under construction, making those sharp curves infinitely more harrowing because there are no road markings and the pavement is buried under loads of loose gravel. To top it off, it traverses miles of rockfall country - those that have not already fallen onto the pavement are awaiting a prime moment to do so. Concrete barriers offer little solace; they have been breached and broken in numerous spots by boulders losing their hold on the cliffs above.

The ess-curve nature of the road requiring 35-miles-per-hour speed limits played havoc with what was alreadty anticipated to be a long travel day. It also did nothing for my nerves and I wasn’t even driving. Probably would have been better if I had been. It would have saved me a lot of yelling at Chris to slow down.

On the upside, when the cliffs do not appear to be poised to collapse onto the truck, they are very picturesque - a long rugged route down through sand-hued canyon walls.

Underground oil is plentiful in this stretch: we see a continuous string of well, pipelines and storage tanks. Too bad that this oil production requires very wide tanks to be transported on this very narrow road. I had to hold my breath each time a wide-load truck passed us going the other way. Obviously, if I had not done so, we would have not fit past them.

As we at long last left that behind, I vowed never to pull a trailer through there again. Off the Jicarilla Reservation, through the Carson National Forest that tantalizes with markers for Navajo Lake (can’t believe we didn’t do any fishing a’tall while there, will have to double-time it next trip), into New Mexico and onto the gigantic Navajo Reservation. I wonder if it’s good p.r. that Chris is wearing his White Mountain Apache t-shirt, but then Chris has no such qualms.

We stop for gas in Shiprock, fuel up, wash windows and trot inside for a pit stop and a cappuccino. Sounds much simpler than it was. One restroom and it’s occupied, so we wait, and wait, and wait. People line up behind us to wait, get tired of waiting and leave, and others line up behind us to wait. We wait so long that the clerk decides something is amiss and comes over with a key. She raps loudly and prepares to unlock the door, I guess presuming that someone has become entangled in the commode in a way that renders them unable to call for assistance. But no, a voice responds that she’s almost done. Finally, she emerges with effusive apologies but I am not sure if she’s even talking to us because she’s the same one I saw pacing outside earlier talking either to herself of to someone hooked into that apparatus attached to her face.

All the while we are experiencing our little bathroom debacle, Rowdy waits patiently in the truck. He has been more talkative than usual this morning. I think he translates our slowing and stopping so many times as nearing our destination, yet, to his consternation we keep going.

The roads this morning have all been very rough surfaced, making it difficult to type. I have learned from sad experiences that typing in my journal while being driven down the road can cause some odd paragraphs. Because I am gazing out at the landscape while I am typing, I fail to notice when a bump has caused the cursor to jump to an entirely different place. Or worse, it will sometimes highlight and delete large sections that I don’t notice until I have saved and gone on, so my masterpiece has disappeared forever.

We see that there has been recent rain through this area, and lots of it. The range and mountains are greened up to a fare-thee-well, Large stands of ponded water further attest to precipitation in the last couple of days. As we left the town of Shiprock and were passing the landmark after which it is named, Chris managed to find a bit of a place to pull to the right enough to stop so I could get a picture of that pinnacle as rain fell on it.

I always enjoy seeing the Navajos’ livestock grazing near the roadside. I see some fine horses, lots of sheep, a few beeves and some Angora goats busy producing raw material for the Indians’ incredible blankets. An unusually large garden we passed was a four-scarecrow corn field.

I noticed this morning that when Chris came home from his Wolf Creek trek and wanted me to insert in the journal a note about his three-toed woodpecker, that I placed it right in the middle of the dark-eyed junco sighting making it sound as if the woodpecker was hopping around on the ground, which it wasn’t.

Best billboard message: “November 2 - election day - time to take out the trash.”

We finished the trip with 58 birds, five of them life birds.

Sara just called to tell what she decided to fix for dinner at the Ronald McDonald House in Topeka, one of her community service ventures. She chose a new recipe from the Simple & Delicious magazine we send to her - a bacon/spaghetti/tomato dish, sounded wonderful. I’m proud of her for doing that; she heads the community service program for The Gap, her employer. Lewis does various community service projects through Walmart.

Aaah! Arizona - there’s no place like it; I’m glad to be home and will be even more happy to be at home. Wow, as we roll along with San Francisco Peaks in our sights, it’s obvious that it has been exceedingly wet here while we were away - tall grass, flowers and green everywhere. I do love our forests; they’re perhaps not as exotic with such an abundance of botanicals as Colorado’s, but they are marvelous nevertheless and besides, it’s home. Dropping over into the stunningly sunflowered meadows between Flagstaff and Williams while a light rain falls offers all a person could ask for in a homecoming.

Monday, August 16
Opal Lake, Wolf Creek, closer doin’s

A drizzly early morning shows every sign of working up to a pretty steady rain. With little experience of Colorado mountain weather, I don’t know if this might pass on through to reveal a bright sunny day or if what we see is what we get. While Chris is away and the rain is falling, I will get some cleaning done. That is when I am most grateful for the trailer’s small size.

Chris took rain gear and headed up for Wolf Creek Pass to do some hiking on the Continental Divide Trail. Last year, we hiked a bit up there and up to Treasure Falls in that locale. We were remarking on the bird difference between Treasure Falls and where we went yesterday. Up Wolf Creek way, we encountered an abundance of great birds; however, yesterday when we trooped into Opal Lake, there was not much at all. We did get a life bird (Eric will correct me if I can’t call this a life bird, but I think it qualifies): a gray-headed black-eyed junco. We have the non-gray-headed variety at home but this one is distinctly different and very pretty.

At Wolf Creek Pass, Chris got another life bird - a three-toed woodpecker.

The encounter was fairly amusing. The sighting was an adult feeding babies who were hopping across the ground after it and the bunch of them acted as if I were nowhere in their universe, and even when I walked right up to them, they darn near jumped on my feet.

We loved the hike into Opal Lake although it being Sunday afternoon, there were a few other people on the trail. It was a bit more open than the foray into the wilderness area. I’m surprised at how different various sites are from the each other given their close proximity.

The lake and its feeders streams, as might be surmised from its name, have a slight milky cast. It’s a pretty little lake, but perhaps not the good fishing that the guides give it credit for. One couple from the Midland/Odessa area of Texas was fishing but had no luck at all. We hiked part way out with them and had a nice talk along the way.

We spotted these striking hallucinogenic mushrooms on the way up the mountain. I know for sure they are hallucinogenic in two ways. First, because I saw the bear cub eat them and hallucinate in the film, “Bear”. The second proof I have that they cause hallucinations is that I ate one and immediately afterward, Chris began to talk about relationships and emotions.















About halfway up to the lake, we saw a small green-goop pond, near-stagnant and teeming with algae. It was nothing like the clear mountain waters usually found in Colorado, much more reminiscent of something that might be encountered in the deep South, an altogether different world but one with its own intriguing charms.

The biggest treat of the hike was finding ripe wild raspberries. It seems that no one else notices them, so we scoured the slopes as we sought out patches of the delectables. The plants are short scruffy little things with only a few berries on each one, so it was worth our while to continue the search over a large area.

These bushes topped with white berries caught my eye. Possibly the only thing I remember from girl scouts was the admonition: "Leaves three quickly flee, berries white take flight" referring to poison ivy and poison oak. Never once have I recognized either itch-causer but wonder if this was poison oak. Someone else always points out to me if I am in the vicinity of poison ivy and I am fairly sure I've never seen poison oak, at least not until now.

Chris was fascinated with traipsing up and over glacial moraines that spoke of a past ice age when huge glaciers pushed large amounts of soil into terraced hillsides. I enjoyed thoughts of a more recent past when hardy mountain men trekked these areas trapping beaver and likely looking out at the distant peaks now in my view. We saw signs of beaver, including a meadow that appeared to have been cleared of trees by them, but saw no active dams and recent activity, only derelict remains of their work in the streams.






Meanwhile . . .

Upon our return to the trailer, we enjoyed leftover pork chops converted into green chile tacos along with corn on the cob and watched a nearby gopher work steadily at creating a new home and gradually pull a huge weed into his den. I dislike developing a personal relationship with these little fellers because at home, we trap them to halt their destruction, but I couldn’t resist admiring this one’s industry while snapping a photo of him.

A jaunt into town for produce afforded us the opportunity to make some phone calls, connections we can’t have from the RV park. Sara was excited to tell me about happening onto the Discovery channel’s “Dual Survivors” program that features our very own Yavapai College’s Cody Lundin, whom we have all watched for years as he traverses campus and town barefoot. Then, the very next morning, I see that he has made the front page of our newspaper as the season finale of his new series approaches.

Thunder-boomer, domes, Rowdy . . .

Yesterday afternoon, we visited the springs, soaked and relaxed and then got out for a shower, as usual. Great timing - as soon as we exited, it came up a thunder-boomer of immense proportions, the kind where you can't hear yourself think as it pounds on the truck roof. It left drifts of hail on the roadside; we might as well not have had an awning because everything underneath it was soaked. The rain continued for quite a long time. This morning, though, (Tuesday), has dawned as clear and pretty as can be.

A short growing season and storms like yesterday's discourage home gardens here; however, geodesic dome greenhouses evidently take up the slack. We have seen them at numerous places in the area. Or could it be that a persuasive geodesic-dome greenhouse salesman was through here?

Rowdy finds comfort with his stuffed bunny while we are away and when thunder roars. We can't believe how fortunate we are to have such a sweet and patient companion.

Saturday, August 14
Townin’ it and stuff

One wonders how one can be so totally and utterly out of touch with the reality of one’s life; at least one does if one is me. No need to look back at what I may have written earlier about this trip. I know it included some claptrap about leisure, catching up on correspondence, reading, getting back to my Spanish studies and who know what other complete absurdities. Obviously, one will have to return home to do any of that because one’s thoughts now run more in the vein of “Shucks, here I am in Colorado. It would be a shame not to enjoy all this that is around me while I can.” And of course that makes perfect sense; however, one continues to be amazed that one could somehow think otherwise.

We have just spent an enjoyable (but chillier by the second) time visiting with a couple from Van, Texas, who stopped by with their dog, Claire, to listen to Chris playing keyboard. Lou and Marsha lived for 40 years in Tucson before retiring down south. They are seeking a new RV place to have their annual family reunion, one that will provide the grandkids with amusements. Obviously people of impeccable taste, they bought both of Chris’ cds.

We stuck close to town today, began with a massage for me at the Healing Waters Wellness Center across the street from the Springs Resort. The on-call therapist happened to be a naturopath and director of the clinic. Amber offered up a fine therapeutic massage whilst Chris trooped off up onto a nearby mountain.

Timing his return perfectly, he walked in the door as I was settling up. I had ordered a town day, so we set off on foot to peruse some shops along the main drag. I know that Melissa will identify with this need.

One, Handcrafted Interiors, was a gallery of creativity beyond any I have ever seen. If I had been watching Fourth of July fireworks, I couldn’t have oohed and ahhed any more. Every piece, from lamps to fine art to wall hangings to tables, was exquisite and truly the epitome of handcrafted creative uniqueness. Even Chris was taken with it all.

There were no others that could begin to compare with this one, so we didn’t dawdle much anywhere else.

We lunched in the shade of the trees over the outdoor deck at Kip’s Grill and Cantina where again unusual was the name of the game. Delicious tacos, but unlike any I’ve ever heard of. Mine was a green chile stuffed with mozzarella cheese ensconced on a bed of chopped sirloin and topped with mounds of chopped cabbage, tomatoes and jalapenos and bedded on two lightly grilled flour tortillas. Plenty tasty enough to return many times. No wonder the place is always packed.

Family history forever lurks . . .

I wanted to stop at the museum to thank the lady there for the assistance she gave us last year when we were searching out cousin Jerry’s ancestors. She was as nice and helpful as we remembered. In the course of comparing notes, we discovered several other possible ancestral connections with her. One was particularly intriguing. There was something about her Wilsons coming from Texas to Prescott, and it sounded more and more as if there will be a tie between her family and Johnny’s family for whom I have just completed a beginning genealogy. Can’t wait to see how this plays out.

When we had originally checked in with her (Ann Oldham) last year, we were looking for information about Jerry’s ancestral William Henry Walker and Lewis Beemer Rhodimer, brother to my great grandfather, Charles Bradner Rhodimer. Jerry has given me a bit more to work on with some collateral family members who were also in Pagosa in the early days. We (Chris, really) managed to find the cemetery again and we put fresh flowers on Mr. Walker’s grave. The American flag we put there last time was still in fine shape, amazingly. He served from Iowa during the Civil War.

A stop and soak at the springs was just the ticket to round out what passes for a leisurely day for us.

High hikes and bear scares . . .

Yesterday, Chris took off on his own for a long hike to get above treeline and enjoy the tundra at more than 12,000 feet. He enjoyed it so much and got two life birds and two new trip birds in the process: Hammond flycatcher, Cassin's vireo, blue-gray gnatcatcher and Brewer's blackbird. We've also added a gray jay.

I stuck around home to catch up on some correspondence and odds and ends, but couldn’t sit still for long, so headed off on a walk that evolved into a climb up a nearby hill. I was completely unencumbered by binocs or camera; when I attained the peak I had tackled and saw fresh bear scat, I wondered what I might do should I then encounter bruin, the originator of said scat, when I had not even so much as a cell phone with which to bonk him on the nose. To my great gratitude, said ursa did not appear anywhere on my path back home.

Etc. . .

I find it fascinating that the Pagosa Springs municipality provides heat to its residents by utilizing the abundant hot water that pours forth from the earth. In some cases, residents have their own private heating systems, much like Prescott residents who have their own water well. I’m told that even the sidewalks are warmed in winter from this steaming aquifer.

I neglected to mention earlier that while hiking at about 10,000 feet elevation, we encountered a horned toad and snapped this pic. I was completely flamboozled that such a creature would be up here in the mountains. Evidently, they actually reside here or else this little feller was quite a traveler, creating a visual for me of his trek from the desert, dodging predators and trucks to at last enjoy a summer vacation from the desert heat.

On our way to the Pagosa burying ground, I spotted a little beaver dam on a creek right in town just at the boundary of someone’s back yard so of course we had to circle back and get a picture of it.









While Chris was playing the keyboard outside, one particular hummingbird perched atop the feeder pole and chirped away with the music. We have yet to figure out the whys of this: although our seed feeder at the other park was mobbed by birds, there has not been a single one come by to dine on our offerings here. We are in similar circumstances right by a river, but are being snubbed. The hummers, however, have no such qualms and are entertaining us with their antics.







And last and definitely least, Chris snatched the camera and caught mom and Rowdy having a Sunday sleep-in.

Friday, August 13
Wolves and meteors

A drive down Durango way delivered us to a planned visit to the daughter of our friends, Ron and Joan. She and her husband live out in the boonies near the burg of Ignacio on a high mountain slope with dynamite views. All eyes here, however, are on the wolves. Paula and Craig inexplicably transformed from people seeking a labrador retriever at the Flagstaff humane society years ago to folks consumed with saving wolves from the horrible abuse heaped on them by humans. The animals in their care number 77, and always more are in need of their kindness and understanding.

They have accepted wolves and wolf/dogs in many stages of disease, pain and mutilation. One female had been chained to others for so long that her neck muscles were atrophied rendering her unable to hold up her head. Another can scarcely put weight on a mutilated foot after being caught in a coyote trap. They’ve been beaten with baseball bats, kicked in the head frequently enough to cause convulsions, had their legs and ribs broken, and internal organs damaged. Often, their lives are shortened because of what they have endured.

When they come to WolfWood Refuge, they receive whatever is necessary to rehabilitate them. Paula offered us a tour, something she does by appointment only, and amazed us with her extensive knowledge and love of these animals. She emphasized that the goal is not to domesticate the wolves, but to socialize them and allow them to have lives as full and normal as possible.

None of them can be released; instead, Paula puts her considerable understanding and intuitive sense into determining which wolves should be housed together, alone, with a dog or alpha companion and many other possible combinations, always discerning what is best for each individual animal. Some have claimed a territory where they were initially penned and cannot be happy in a larger enclosure or away from where they are comfortable.

Countless times each day and night, she climbs the steep hill along which are dotted the enclosures just above her house to feed, medicate, observe and interact with the canines. Her knowledge of the species in general and experience with each of those entrusted to her is phenomenal.

And every bit of the wolves’ needs are met by private donations, further made possible by volunteers who assist in the huge job of caring for them. They have been saved from abuse by individuals and from euthanasia by public agencies. A few can be adopted out to carefully screened homes. Most are at WolfWood for the remainder of their lives; here they find a compassionate environment where every effort is made to provide the best physical, mental, social and psychological situation for every wolf and wolf/dog.

We very much appreciated our tour of WolfWood and will highly recommend them as a worthy recipient of monetary tax-deductible contributions. The 24/7 work involved and expenses for veterinary care, medicine, surgeries, fencing, transportation to the many educational programs, food and facilities are staggering. I can’t imagine the job these people have set for themselves, but Paula says, “We get to live our passion.” And such would it have to be in order to maintain this consuming schedule and life. (Note to self: contact information is www.wolfwoodrefuge.org, www.wolfwoodrefuge.com, wolfwood1995@hotmail.com, or P.O. Box 312 Ignacio, CO 81137.)

We took advantage of being near the city to lunch at Fiesta Mexicana in Durango where we previously enjoyed the fare with Jon and Leslie. Reminder not to eat at the Pagosa restaurant across the river from the springs. It is always so tempting because of the wonderful view from the deck overlooking the San Juan and the springs; however, after three trips and three times eating there and always saying I'm not going to again, I forget, or its convenience entices me. We don't eat out much, so it's more disappointing to have a less-than-memorable meal when we do.

Balloon and night skies . . .

On the way to WolfWood, we enjoyed seeing this hot air balloon descending beyond Pagosa Lake.

A late-afternoon visit to the springs was especially restful. We had a nice conversation with an 85-year-old man who had flown out from his home in North Carolina to vacation at Pagosa with his daughter and son-in-law. They seemed to be having a fine time and we got to talk about Mom and Dad W. in N.C.

Knowing that the Perseid meteor shower was upon us, I arose last night at an absurd hour after about 30 minutes of mentally beating myself into giving up my warm bed. Chris declined my invitation to join me with a muffled one-word sensible response.

Dressed and wrapped in a blanket, I settled into a camp chair to observe the dark night. At this elevation, the stars are nothing short of astounding. My only obstructions were one very tall ponderosa pine and the Totee. Before coming outside, I noted the time, 3:10, because I knew my sleep-befuddled brain would lose it. I was soothed by the river’s rushing just below me. Almost immediately, I was rewarded by the sight of little zippy streaks of light across the sky. Those seemed to be everywhere; at times, there were longer brilliant vapor trails that remained in sight for longer periods of time.

How amazing to enjoy the most prolific meteor shower I have ever seen! I didn’t really want to give it up but sitting out there barefoot in rain-soaked flip-flops at last convinced me to retire. I felt so fortunate that the early evening wind- and rainstorm lashed us with a vengeance and then cleared the skies for perfect viewing.

When I returned, I again noted the time: 3:33 exactly. I had counted precisely 23 meteors - one for every minute I was there.

Wednesday, August 11
Movin’ & groovin’

An all-around excellent day - from our mundane move to a summer afternoon in the San Juans. Started out a bit slow - I have been very tired during this trip and not really pepping up much, and then it didn’t help that Rowdy was on critter watch and insistent that I join him. By the time I arose from my bed, clomped down to the other end of the trailer, dug out the flashlight and tried to shine it on something besides the neighbor’s sewer hookup without the window reflecting my sleep-deprived face (2 a.m.: what is that red thing? Can it be a bear???), whatever critters were in the neighborhood had definitely hightailed it to better pastures. Oh well, I think Rowdy appreciated my efforts.

We had received word that a space would be open for us at the Rio Blanco RV Park on . . . what else . . . the Blanco River, so prepared to hook up and go. Always, Rowdy knows when we’re preparing to move and goes into mope mode. This morning he moped but at least did not bury himself beneath the comforter and pillows. I told him we weren’t going far so I think that moderated his response. Only fellow neurotic pet owners can understand this perfectly logical belief.

Neighbors Shirley and Walt were also pulling out, heading to Creede. She brought me her contact information and they invited us to camp in their yard or at a campground five minutes from their house in Arkansas right on the White River. She was very nervous about the remainder of their trip, wants only for the two of them to get home safely. I definitely would like to stay in touch with them and to visit. They are sweet and brave people.

Rio Blanco . . .

Our new home so far has come through with consistent internet signals. The tradeoff is zero cell phone reception so I will just wait to pick up phone messages when I’m closer to town. We’re about ten miles south of Pagosa now instead of five miles east. Lovely park with exceptionally friendly mostly long-term summerers, and good owners - a young couple, Erin and Ray, with small children who appear to have been adopted by everyone in the park.

Half a day spent in checking out, hooking up, packing up, driving, checking in, unhooking and unpacking but I’m much happier with my new digs.

I love the sign they have posted:
“Welcome, enjoy yourself.
Enjoy others.
Enjoy the park.
Enjoy the weather or let us know if you can change it.”

Blogging and friends . . .

The very best part and perhaps the only reason for doing the blog is the connections it facilitates with people who are receiving it. I cherish the feedback, remarks, comments and memories that folks share with me. Sometimes, things that we do and write about seem to resonate with others who then relate back their wonderful stories of and memories. To me, this is an incredible blessing. I get to learn things about friends and acquaintances that would never have come up in conversation. I wish I could figure out how to make that deeper connection continue after this blog is over.

Melissa has shared stories about her family that even she just recently learned and that are a fascinating window into the past.

Warren was reminded of some of his experiences in the San Juan Mountains. Rather than paraphrase, I am going to include a portion of his email to me. It conveys a picture so well: “Once, years ago when I was in that part of the world, I sat in a talus slope above timberline and watched for several hours the pika cutting hay, laying it to dry in the sun, carrying dried hay into their burrows, sitting up and giving their little "peep" alarm. Have you seen them? I understand they are very elusive, but when hiking over the talus slope I heard their calls and sat and watched patiently and they came out and resumed their busy lives. Delightful.”

On other trips, I have heard the pikas and seen them scampering around their preferred rocky inclines, but always, they have been virtual blurs of motion, so Warren’s description was, for me, truly delightful. By the way, pikas are related to rabbits and hares.

He also informed me that the Williams annual Old Punchers Reunion Rodeo is a ranch rodeo of the type we enjoyed here in Pagosa. I had no idea that it was anything different from what I am accustomed. Now I will make it a point to attend.

Into the mountains . . .

Despite our move and my short nap, we managed to head off into the mountains. A road near the new park conveyed us to the South San Juan Wilderness area. I find it impossible to make it up a mountain or pretty much anywhere without finding numerous items of interest along the way; this was no exception. We stopped for photos of roadside mushrooms, long-distance views, photos of the most extensive stand of aspens I have ever seen. And so it goes - interest and excitement everywhere. I loved this photo of a sign near a ranch house lower on the mountain.


At one point, we got out the scope and were set up on the dirt road peering across to the canyon wall far across from us when I turned around and saw a deer that had approached on the steep slope above and was intently watching our shenanigans with great interest. The game up here is not near so bold as that down near civilization, but she was mightily curious until we turned our attention on her.

Then we hike into the wilderness area with nary another person within miles and we are transported into the most beautimous world imaginable. I am struck wordless, impossible to convey even a fraction of the grandeur and beauty of this moist, cool awesome woods. Forest floor vegetation is lush, anywhere from knee- to shoulder-high with more varieties that I imagined existed. Lots of berries, too: strawberries, elderberries, gooseberries, currants, raspberries and others we don’t recognize but that are brilliant deep red atop a stem.

The trees are small, medium and humoungous, endless varieties, colors, textures. Meadows here and there are not the open grassy affairs which I am used to, but rather thickly vegetated spaces dotted with smaller trees.

Coming to the far edge of a meadow, I hear a quiet contented clucking sound and freeze. Waiting still, listening to the sound, I think of a mother talking to its babies. We are rewarded, unbelievably, with a look at another blue grouse. She sees us but in spite of our presence, slowly proceeds near to the trail we are following. I snap some pictures, but the tremor renders them fuzzy. We carefully approach her and Chris steadies my hand as I shoot her again. We are looking through the binoculars, taking photos and getting closer until we see that we are starting to agitate her so we stop.

Presently, she surprises us by jumping up onto a low bare pine tree branch where we have an unobstructed look at her. More photos, I hope they are halfway decent. And then, the reason she has chosen this lookout: a baby appears from the brush, then another and finally four altogether take their time crossing from one brushy area to another and mom follows. I was so excited to get to see this.

As we passed that spot and I hoped for more glimpses, I startled her and she startled me. She had chosen another lookout position that I didn’t notice until we both spooked, so that was our last look at the little family.

We had crossed Fish Creek as we hiked farther into the mountain and were roughly following its tumbling path from above. In addition, we encountered seep springs and swampy areas. (note to self: think deer flies when going into Colorado mountains.) The beauty around us was beyond any description I could attempt. It was like walking through a protected fairyland and catching sight of the world beyond when a break in the trees allowed. As is my wont, I snapped entirely too many photos, knowing full well that they could be only poorest facsimile of the real thing, but oh, how I would love to share the sense of the place with those who were not there - truly magical and overwhelming.

We heard dozens of different bird calls and saw them flitting from one brushy sanctuary to another nearby tree but identified only two new trip birds: a yellow-rumped warbler and a house wren. The threatened rain sprinkled on us a few times as the storm occasionally seen through the treetops continued to build, also building some apprehension about being able to drive down the mountain. When we entered this magnificent place, I remarked on its seeming to be prime bear country. For most of our hike, bruin was nowhere apparent; however, a down rotted tree that had been torn to pieces in recent times alerted us to his possible presence. I would love to see a bear, but not particularly in those circumstances.

Monday, August 9
A Sunday drive and more

Sooo, the router is replaced; everything internet-wise that could be replaced has been replaced - all so exciting to log on and start doing research only to be brought up short when the thing quit in midstream. I’m pretty much ready to move to another park, can’t think of a reason to put up with this frustration. Oops, can’t even do research to find another park.

Down the San Juan . . .

Ah well, gave it up and went for a Sunday drive on Monday. I wanted to explore downriver on the San Juan so that was where we pointed our noses. The forest that direction was much less like north (Wolf Creek Pass) and east of us and more resembled the ponderosa forest by home - less variety in tree types, much less understory, but with more of the wonderful grassy meadows that are common in Colorado and northern California. It reminds me of childhood summers spent in northern California around Mount Shasta where icy streams rush down canyons and the meadow grass shares space with wild strawberries and flowers.

I was surprised to see longhorn cattle in some pastures, much less livestock here than I would expect, especially with the lush grazing available.

Southern Utes, steam shovels . . .

Our drive took us into the Southern Ute Reservation, but it was next to impossible to tell what was Indian land and what not. Seems that reservation is randomly checkerboarded with privately-owned property. I have no idea how it came to be so oddly, but a quick guess would be that it was not to the Ute’s advantage. They do have some very nice river frontage, quite a lot of it in fact; postings informed us that we needed a Ute permit to fish in those places.

I had to stop to watch a steam shovel (are they still called steam shovels even though they are no longer powered by steam?) at work right in the river. We never did quite figure out what the operator was trying to accomplish but it was certainly impressive how he controlled the machine. Probably not Mike Mulligan at the controls, but he was very adept, made it look so simple as he scooped out an area, then picked up boulders to drop into the hollowed-out area. His tracks sank to what I thought was an alarming degree, but still he worked away placing rocks and tamping them down. Seemed as if he might have been strengthening the shoreline where a flood had affected it and since that is my best theory, I’ll go with it. It was fun watching him work. Maybe he’s Mike Mulligan’s grandson.

Our route took us into some lower elevations where some pastures were sprinkler irrigated. It was all very sparsely populated with mostly dispersed ranch houses. We stopped at a cemetery of a place called Trujillo that evidently had at one time been a small town, way smaller now, but the cemetery had some interesting photo ops.

B.J., Karen, bears . . .

When we saw a raft and kayaks on the river, we decided to stop downriver and watch them approach us. A good pullout was a road to a small bridge. When we stopped just short of the bridge (I wasn’t sure it was truck-worthy and I confess to some bridgeaphobia), a man who lived nearby approached. We got to talking, of course, and enjoyed a nice hour with him - Bill (B.J.), and his wife, Karen.

Everyone has a story and theirs was as interesting as any. Bill had had a brain tumor 11 years ago, causing one side of his face to be paralyzed. Because of that, he doesn’t allow his picture to be taken, but he graciously let me photograph the two of them with Montezuma spire in the background. That local landmark is directly across the river from their house.

They had just returned from four days in Albuquerque where he was having some heart issues dealt with at the V.A. He was a cryptographer during the Vietnam war. Karen was also reticent to be photographed because she had paint on her shirt from silkscreening she does to help out with her youngest son’s business he has taken up to replace his crashed construction endeavors.

They both were so nice and hospitable to two strangers who dropped into their laps. Bill showed us wildlife photos he has taken in the area - a pastime he has begun to replace occupations he can no longer do. He had some rather astounding stories of encounters with bears and other animals, seems he talks to them, telling the to stop, smile or wait while he takes their picture. And according to Bill, they frequently do exactly as he requests; the photos reflect that, too.

They told us about a bear in the area that had been tearing things up at another place and was shot by that rancher but not killed, so is now considered a dangerous rogue bear. I kinda thought I would not hike right around there right around then. Later at the Springs, a couple from Durango told us that the bear population is on the rise.

All over Colorado are old homestead cabins in various stages of collapse after being abandoned and left to the harsh winters; I can scarcely see ruins of any kind with snapping pictures like crazy. I am always intrigued by curiosity about who lived there, what their life was like and all the things that happened to those people in those places, just as occurs everywhere people settle.

Navajo Lake, birds, Piedras River . . .

Taking a circular route, we did a bit of exploring at the north end of Navajo Lake, most of which lies in New Mexico. The San Juan was really very pretty all along this drive where we mostly followed its meanderings until it disappeared into the lake. We obtained information about fishing regulations there and may try it out this trip.

Heading back was a much shorter drive and traversed a ways along the Piedras River that also empties into Navajo Lake. We were happy to find a place that allows access to the old narrow gauge railroad bed. We had been following that twisting defunct railroad route for much of our drive and had seen some of its bridges. It is the middle abandoned section of two modern scenic lines: the Cumbres-Toltec and the Durango-Silverton.

The part of the road bed we walked was interesting because it was raised from ground level to a height to allow us excellent bird watching in the brush and treetops on both sides. Because it is right by the Piedras and the lake, it was alive with birds and I’m sure would afford great wildlife watching at more appropriate times of the day.

We didn’t have the scope with us and were there in midday but even at that, we got a few new trip birds on our walk, including cedar waxwing, chipping sparrow, Wilson’s warbler, lesser goldfinch and spotted towhee. Others for the day were black phoebe, common merganser, great blue heron, western bluebird and raven. (Note to self: apply mosquito repellent before going back there.)

Brave people, potluck, moving . . .

We got new neighbors last night, people I like very much. Their situation is sad: Walt has early Parkinson’s (four years is maybe not real early but that’s what they’re calling it). Besides being saddened by his disease, Shirley is having a pretty hard time because he does not want to adjust his activities to his physical abilities and will not accept her help, so she is left feeling pretty helpless at his frustration and anger.

They are pulling a travel trailer larger than ours, have not RVed before except in a limited way with a horse trailer with living quarters. His condition and their lack of experience is being very stressful for them both. We have helped them with unhooking and setting up and tips that we learned the hard way. She managed to talk him into spending a second night here because they were very tired after their trip from Arkansas. I’m hoping they can go somewhere and light for a spell. They are getting a break from spending several nights every week at her 98-year-old father’s house in alternating caring for him with her siblings because he refuses to leave his home.

She really needed to talk, so she and I sat and visited for a long time last night. Hope they will join us at the park’s potluck tonight; we’re taking corn pudding. Nancy’s providing hamburgers and hot dogs. Should be nice visiting, especially because our Texas neighbors are leaving tomorrow. He’s singing the blues cuz he wants to stay an additional month to allow things to cool off before they head south.

The wifi is down again so I can’t send my blog nor communicate except by telephone (horrors!) and that not very well. We went today to find a new park, will move in the a.m. to the Blanco River RV Park. They had one space just come open and saved it for us. Hopefully we will have better luck with internet there.

I read today that Alaska’s former senator Ted Stevens was killed in a plane crash. His mother-in-law, Elladean, was a lifelong friend of Dad K’s from their ranching days. I sat next to him at the dinner after her memorial service a couple of years ago. The news made me feel sad for his family.

We’re just back from the potluck barbecue, had a great time - good bunch of people. They asked Chris to play so that always adds to the atmosphere. There’s bunches of “sutheners” here, I guess because it’s too hot to exist where they live. Most of them come every year for all or a large part of the summer.

A bunch of them are still down there partying. One elderly (here we go again with the older than us bit - wonder how long that will last) couple from Alabama were up dancing in the gravel, glad to have live music.

Before our springs fix this afternoon, we stopped by Pagosa Lake to get a look at the swans. Last year, they had two babies; this year they’ve doubled it and they posed nicely for me.

And then: a marquee that is to the point and surely a sign of the times: “Stop crime, no incumbents”.

Saturday, August 7
Cowboys, fairs, hiking, birds, storms, computers

Amazing: a day that lasted for 36 hours! How fun to have so many of those. No way all that happens could have fit into the 10 hours the clock says we were away.

The day began with a cloud that looked for all the world like smoke and ended with a crazed storm that appeared poised to drop a tornado, raced us home and is now pouring rain and rumbling ominously. As we hit the highway and headed home, I looked back and was startled to see a massive low dark cloud behind us. We ran on home, offloaded our equipment and in those few minutes, it was upon us. I stayed out watching it catch up and encircle us and whip up a fearsome wind that convinced me to bring in our awning lest we lose a second one. By then, the rain had begun.

Home at 8 p.m. and finding the wifi down again. Our two Texas neighbor couples said the internet worked fine here until the lightning strike and now is intermittent. Last evening, I was sitting outside working on my blog when the two women wanted to bring me their computers to see if I could get them logged on. I confessed that since they were using . . . ahem . . . Windows when I am a Mac person, I wasn’t sure I could be successful but allowed as how I would try.

I went next door to help out as I could and as I walked up to the woman’s computer sitting on the picnic table, it immediately went online. Pretty impressive if I do say so myself. She wanted me to stand just so in case the signal might disappear if I moved. Nothing like being needed.

It being Saturday morning and all, we opted to head over to the farmer’s market for fresh produce. Erk! Chris tried to turn in where it had been two years ago; after he finished swerving all over the road like a damn tourist, I reminded him that it had moved down by the Dogwood Cafe last year clear at the other end of town. Oops, it is no longer there either. Do they want only the most persistent customers?

Stereotypically, Chris decided that he might “know” where they have hidden it so he’s going to wander around. Again stereotypically, I suggest we might stop to ask someone. To his credit, he did so without a great deal of delay; however, that girl was not a lot of help when she didn’t really know but offered up incorrect information.

Pagosa Springs is laid out mostly along the main highway so finally we located the thing where it was hiding in plain sight right where we had driven past it once. Beats me why they keep moving it, but we did get some nice produce for our efforts and some fun photos.

Country life and cowboying are alive and well . . .

After stowing the goodies back at home, we took off for the Archuleta County Fair and the accompanying ranch rodeo. I thought that was the name they gave to the event; it never occurred to me that it was an entirely different thing than any rodeo I had ever attended or even heard of.

I am soooo glad we went - what a treat it was. Turns out a ranch rodeo consists of cowhands from various ranches competing as teams in events that reflect chores they would be called on to do on the range. These include: horse catching, calf branding, team penning, team doctoring and wild cow milking. Eight ranches competed.

If a person requires glitzy, fast-paced entertainment, this is not the place to be; however, if you enjoy watching men, women and horses working hard together in a truly authentic way, ranch rodeo can’t be beat. As always, when humans attempt to subdue livestock, there are surprises and sometimes injuries.

One of those occurred when a team was riding for the finish line after their completion of the horse catching. One cowboy’s hat blew off his head right into the face of the following horse that immediately reared back on its haunches, going from a full gallop to a screeching standstill in a moment. His rider did an incredible full somersault in midair right over the horse’s head and landed in a heap in the ensuing tangle of cowboys, horses and dust. He lay ominously still for a significant amount of time while the emergency service people worked over him. What a relief when at last he rejected the backboard brought out for him, stood, smiled and walked out of the arena.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the sore muscles the next day when watching the cowhands wrestling and being run over and dragged by steers, calves and wild cows. Seeing this action of teams who daily interact planning their strategies and working together was interesting and fun. Another difference from pro rodeo was the opportunity to get a sense of the various cowboys and teams rather than seeing them in the arena once and then they’re gone.

And then it helped that we were sitting amongst many audience members who knew them personally. Even better, we got to know some of those local folks. One elderly (well, anyway they were older than us) couple was especially friendly, allowing me to butt in on their conversations with friends. They were John and Jean Taylor (an ancestral name twice for me). In 1896, John’s granddad homesteaded the family ranch where they still live. According to John, his great grandfather went to California in the gold rush, returned to Missouri later finding it unchanged from when he left (evidently not a good thing) and hightailed it back to the Sacramento Valley, all before grandpa departed for the Colorado mountains.

After the rodeo, we wandered the county fairgrounds and saw John’s photo on the Western Heritage wall and later saw him and Jean again. That was when he mentioned that he had some hay grasses entered in the fair. After we checked that out and saw that he had won four blue ribbons out of five entries, I wanted to find him to offer congratulations. As we talked, we learned that he taught high school math and science. He is also a photographer and serves on many boards of directors, and Jean, from another pioneer family, is also very active in 4-H, the fair and the schools. In fact, her father founded the Archuleta County fair. What a charming and friendly couple they are.

The fair exhibits were widely varied and interesting; the relatively small number reflected the sparse population here. The quilts were incredible; I wanted to photograph them all to remember the amazing variety but confined my clicking to one that gave the impression of brilliant stained glass.

I watched the fast draw shooting competition for a spell and we were amazed at the accuracy of those competing in the horseshoe tournament - more ringers than not. I found the small number of livestock competitors surprising: no beef or poultry, only a few sheep, goats and pigs. That doesn’t seem to reflect the rural ranching atmosphere here. Horses seem to be a major enterprise; we see beautiful horses pastured all around.

On the mountain . . .

All that town activity drove us to the mountains afterward. A winding gravel road took us up and up to an estimated (by Chris, all I know is that we were way the heck up there) 10,000 feet where we set off for a goodly long hike through thickly vegetated beautiful boreal forest with stunning long-distance views between trees and still we were far below the summit that loomed treeless and rocky above us.

We encountered many seep springs and one creek that was noisily cascading down its steep canyon. The few birds we heard or spotted flitting through the underbrush were secretive enough that we never identified any of them until back in the Toter, we got a life bird - the blue grouse - two of them in fact that obliged us by being on the road plenty long enough for us to get a good gander through the binocs - very exciting!

Oh yes, we did get a red-shafted northern flicker and back at the ranch, we added American goldfinch to the hordes at the feeders. Evidently, the evening grosbeak telegraph has done its job; we have a mob of dads out there feeding their ravenous offspring while the moms leisurely graze around on the ground (note to self: check out possibility of coming back as a female evening grosbeak.)

Best business names: Holy Smokes, selling stoves and fireplaces. The car wash posts a question on their sign: “Got mud?” With almost daily rain, there’s sure to be plenty of that.