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.