Colorado rocks 
Sept. 23, 2014

Untethered . . .

A month is a whole lot of togetherness, hence, a day apart is a many-splendored thing.  One particular day during our week-long sojourn in Pagosa Springs accommodated Chris’ wish to hike above treeline, and my inclination not to have anything to do with that high-elevation trek.  I had a lovely around-town day and a rare opportunity to have a nice long phone chat with my niece who phoned at the exact right time, and Chris  . . . well, who knows what floats his boat, but he did bring back some fabby photos (no, it wasn’t easy allowing him to take “my” camera, but I did it).

Of course I had to transport him far up the mountain to the trailhead so I could keep the truck.  It worked out - I got the hang of the new truck and he got the hang of the new camera with some dramatic shots of the spectacular Rocky Mountains high.

That's me heading for lower elevations on 13 miles of mountain road after dropping off crazed hiker husband.

Riverside, merganser . . .

We were again at Pagosa Riverside RV park, our favorite of several in the area, and have enjoyed watching the many moods of the San Juan.  A long night and morning of rain created quite the muddy torrent ripping through where shortly before there had been a moderate clear flow over a rocky riverbed.

 

 

Before the flood, we watched a common merganser making its leisurely way upstream, walking over rocks where the depth was not sufficient to swim.  Later, when we were a few miles downstream, we saw a (the same?) merganser being swept down the river, seemingly without a care in the world as he bobbed this way and that with the current.

Chris studies a map in preparation for the next day's hike while Rowdy holds down the rug.

Bowhunters, hiking, forests . . . .

The places we hiked near here varied a lot in elevation, orientation and thus vegetation.  Some spots higher up near Wolf Creek Pass above Treasure Falls were perilously dry; extended drought and bark beetle infestation have combined to destroy extensive regions of forest.

As one local gentleman said to us: “It’s not a questions of if these forests will burn; it’s only a matter of when”.  A sad and completely true statement.

Lunchtime view

This may be a very old logging road, now flower-filled.

 Despite the loss of millions of majestic trees, the understory in that area was thriving; indeed, we were astounded to discover wild strawberries still blooming and producing so late in the season, in addition to gooseberries, raspberries and mint.

A digression . . .

At the mere mention of gooseberries and wild strawberries, I am immediately transported in memory to my early teenage years in the incredible forested mountains of northern California.  Those never-to-be-forgotten summer days were a result of Dad and Uncle Lewis teaming up to contract with the Forest Service to divest wide swaths of the forest of gooseberries, a scourge for white pines as the second required host of blister rust, which kills the trees.

Various of the Kelley offspring joined the men at their high-altitude camps:  amazing weeks of camping in those pristine environs were filled with the things that all children should experience.  It was the strawberries that set me off, however.  How could I forget wandering unattended with my sister through magical meadows carpeted with strawberries.  On hands and knees, we would feast our way through the Eden-like bounty, savoring each tiny morsel.

 

Back to the Colorado Rockies . . .

Although the double-whammy devastation of drought and beetle is apparent for hundreds of square miles, some regions seem to have fared better and to be more healthy.

The hidey hole under this rock is surely a bear's den or lion's lair.  I requested that Chris investigate more closely, but he declined.  To scale it, that's an impressively-sized tree trunk leaning against it. 

 

I am ever amazed at the endless types of fungi that exist, all of them fascinating to me.  Which reminds me: did you hear about the mushroom that walked into a bar?  The bartender refused to serve him.  "Why not?" he asked, "I'm a fun-guy".

 

Marmot, swans . . .

I was over the moon when we observed a marmot start at our approach and then hunker down flat to the ground as if that would camouflage him, and well it might have if we had not seen the movement that preceded his defensive stance.

We were high above him; because his head was obscured by brush, I couldn't get a good photo.  When we returned to that area at the end of our hike, I wondered if there was some slight chance to spot him again, however unlikely that seemed.  We scored - there he was; for whatever his reason might be, he scurried quickly to the exact place he had hidden before, but this time, he kept his head in the open watching us watching him.

I had forgotten how large they are: a pretty animal with a wide bushy tail, they can weigh upwards of ten pounds.  I feel a special kinship with them, and really appreciated seeing this one.

We were happy to see that the tundra swan pair remains at their post on the golf course lake.  In previous years, we were earlier in the season and found them with young, but no sight of babies this year.  Do they hatch offspring every season only to have the young leave the area?  I expect I will not know the answer to that.

Lakes or not . . .

Buckles and Harris, two supposed trout lakes we trekked to made us glad we had foregone carrying fishing gear.  They were low and silted in to the point of being in danger of disappearing, although the resultant marshy valleys were picturesque below the surrounding forested slopes.  Canada geese and mallards appeared to be perfectly contented with conditions.  Around the very reedy weedy perimeter, the water was fairly aboil with minnows.

 

The geese were lounging along the shoreline, but took to the water when our approach was deemed too near.

The word about bow hunting season in progress must have been transmitted to the local elk population; we saw only one; however, deer were not as shy.  Of the hunters we spoke to, none had bagged their game, not even the feller with a bear tag.  They had seen bear in the area around the lakes, though.  I am glad we did not, but never fear, I was ready with my trusty pepper spray.  I continue to hope that I never find out if that would deter a bear from hurting me or if it would just generally piss it off.

Flocks of turkeys turned up in several places, but we saw only one blue grouse.  It froze in place when we encountered it at the roadside and did not twitch so much as an eyelid until I disembarked and approached it.  Even then, it did not flush, but just quietly moved into grassy cover where it was almost indiscernible even though I knew just where it was hidden.

 

Other birds we got in the Pagosa area that were new for the trip were: lesser goldfinch, red-naped sapsucker, Wilson's warbler, red-winged blackbird, white-breasted nuthatch, Steller's jay, bronzed cowbird, canvasback, dark-eyed junco, graylag goose, brown-headed cowbird, gray jay, mountain chickadee, three-toed woodpecker, peregrine falcon and American dipper for a grand total of 77 species.

The springs, people . . .

Afternoons/evenings were reserved for soaking in the hot mineral springs pools overlooking the San Juan River, an activity that is difficult to leave behind.  I love the faintly sulfuric odor that wafts up from the springs and randomly around Pagosa, and I am crazy about lolling around in the warm water, leaving the so-called lobster pot at 112 degrees to those more inclined to cook themselves.

Submerging one’s body into the varying heat pools relaxes all tension and invites socialization with other bathers, although closed eyes and/or turning one’s back to gaze at the river are effective signals when a person wants to forgo conversation.

 

We enjoy getting to know those around us who have also come for rejuvenation.  People like Roger and Grace, Navajos originally from Window Rock, now residents of Shiprock, are pleasant and interesting.  Roger is a retired Methodist minister who officiated at the memorial for one of the last Navajo code talkers.

We hit it off right away with Tom & Karen from Broomfield, Colorado, and expect to get together when they come to Arizona.  Another couple we enjoyed turned out to be neighbors, staying two spaces down from us, and had been enjoying Chris’ keyboard music of an evening.

Folks from all over the world hear about the mineral waters of Pagosa with supposedly healing qualities.  The town’s claim is to the deepest geothermal springs in the world; I am still wondering how one goes about measuring the depth of the springs.

Chris got an A+ in relaxation class, and continues to do advanced study.

Midland . . .

One group of six Texas fellers told us they come to Pagosa every summer for a getaway.  The kicker of conversation with them was that they were from (shudder!) Midland.  For anyone who thinks I may have overstated the negative aspects of that west Texas metropolis, those gentlemen confirmed every bit of it and then some.

One of them had the perspective of longevity: he had resided there since 1973.  In his opinion (and others I’ve spoken with), the place at 100,000 population, its stable pre-boom population, was a good place to live.

Now, however, at probably twice that size, he had nothing but denigrating remarks about his hometown, and the fellers with him were more than happy to chime in with a long list of Midland ills - empty unstocked shelves in stores, traffic backed up for miles and miles, trash strewn everywhere, and on an on.

The right place at the right time, balloon crews . . .

We seldom plan our trips around special events, rather locales or people are the driving (sorry) factor, but we have several times lucked into activities that we knew nothing about beforehand.  Once in Pagosa, we arrived at just the right time for the ranch rodeo and county fair - an absolute joy to attend both.

This particular weekend in Pagosa was one of those serendipitous times - a hot air balloon festival.  About 30 balloons launched early on both Saturday and Sunday mornings; we arose before dawn on Saturday so as not to miss a thing.  It was great fun to wander through the preparation fields watching as each crew went about their task in their own way until all the balloons were bobbing up and down in the sunrise.

The pilots were daring as they sank their ships down into the narrow San Juan gulch or set down in the piney neighborhoods, allowing passengers to disembark and to pick up others for a ride.

 

The sights and colors were a feast for the camera and our eyes.

Lots of folks in our RV park were there to crew for the balloon pilots.  Two of those, Dave and Betty, were parked near us in their cute little Tab trailer that I had to photograph.  Ingeniously done, the back of their minuscule camper opened upward to reveal a clever galley set-up.

Home away from home . . .

The new trailer is so comfortable; relative to our 25-footer, it is a veritable palace of plushness with storage galore.  Both of us are able to work in the kitchen at the same time - I’ve known real houses that did not allow that.  Granted that the larger size does require a bit more attention on the road and in finding places to get off the road, but Chris is dealing with that just fine.

We really like the electric awning because it allows us to have it out easily without tie-downs and then to bring it in when we are leaving or when the wind kicks up.  We learned our lesson about leaving it out when we are away: we did that at Blue Lake years ago while we were off on a hike and came home to an expensive-to-replace torn up awning.

Some of the trailer's other jim-dandy features are space to move, sufficient hot water to take an actual shower, a shower that does not require crouching in order to get under the stream, a full-length bed, a real closet and bedroom drawers, across-the-board upgrades and did I mention space.

Thermostatically controlled & vented air conditioning is fabulous for Rowdy’s comfort when we are away for the day, which is almost always.

We thought the fireplace option was way over the top, but we have changed our minds.  In addition to vented cooling, the heater is also vented, which means it is actually effective in the bedroom.  We couldn’t use the heater in the old Totee: it was so loud that it woke me up whenever it came on and the resulting piddly heat never made it to the back anyway, so we carted around a radiator for heat, which took up more of the precious little space in there.

Heater montster . . . .

That heater is good news/bad news.  I have mentioned the upside; however, an elderly blind cat does not mesh well with floor vents.  When the heater is on and Rowdy ventures out for a foray around the place, warm air whooshing up out of the floor scares the pea waddin' out of him, and that is where the fireplace comes in.  Warms things right up (a necessity in a September Pagosa) and allows Rowdy the run of the house without the heater monster getting him.

Plentiful produce . . .

Probably because of the balloon festival, the farmer's market was extended to our weekend there, so we availed ourselves of the mostly autumnal offerings.  Next to it is the perennial produce stand that we have come to depend on for Olathe sweet corn and Colorado peaches among other things.

Kneeldown bread . . .

On occasion, I have to wonder where I have been all my life - as we crossed the Navajo Reservation on the way home, Chris noticed signs advertising kneeldown bread, something neither of us had ever heard of, so I took advantage of my uptown communication equipment - inverter, mifi and computer - to determine just what this new thing could be.  It was a bit chagrining to discover that it is an ancient traditional Navajo staple, similar to green corn tamales.  Perhaps every other Arizonan is familiar with it; I can’t fathom why it has escaped our notice heretofore.

A downtown Pagosa Springs mural

Our RV neighbor devised these clever solar light holders.

The Pagosa area has many beautiful historic homesteads scattered in the back country.

This pic from the farm adjoining our RV park is for my children - good memories of our Goat Hill Farm!

If there were a cartoon thought balloon over Rowdy's head, it would say this: "I am 18 years old, blind and feeble - the hell with staying on the rug, I am heading for the tall timber if I want to, and I want to, so there!"

Fire in the sky