Colorful cold Colorado
June 25, 2019

Pagosa Springs was but a side trip along the way; our actual destination was to a time-share trade in Avon.  Not really a very long jaunt from one to the other, but in our usual fashion, we stretched it out into a long interesting journey.

Up and over Wolf Creek Pass we went and what a climate-wise difference that made!  But first, we paused at the summit to take a selfie in the snow and freeze our tushies off.

San Luis Valley . . .

Our descent from the pass and the snowy conditions Pagosa-side brought us into far drier conditions as we made our winding way out of the mountains and down into the San Luis Valley.  That place reminds me in a rather bizarre way of West Texas, in that everyone always thinks there's not much of interest there.  It seems to me it depends a great deal in both cases to being open to what's there without expectation of what it might be.

We have done some interesting and fascinating explores in the San Luis Valley (west Texas, too), and this time was no exception; we even left saying that we need to return for more discoveries and to spend more time.

I was fascinated with the ruin of a sod-roofed adobe barn, most likely the remains of an old potato shed, that country having been noted for that crop.  Seems as if a great many of my fascinations revolve around agriculture, but then that extends to the folks who worked so diligently and laboriously to bring forth sustenance from the earth.

Saguache is one of the intriguing small towns that has retained more than a semblance of its historical character with a number of old neighborhoods and buildings of character and charm.  A return for photography is a must there; we amble/drove up and down and around so that I could exclaim about the structures.

Moving on, we encountered roadside signs alerting us to sites unknown, such as Elephant Rocks, Penitente Canyon and La Ventana arch.  Not knowing quite what those entailed (well, we kinda figured out what the arch might be - duh), we opted to follow the signs - an action I fully encourage.

Elephant Rocks . . .

Not exactly sure where the moniker originated - perhaps the massive boulders' surface was thought to be reminiscent of elephant hide - but we were entranced with the area.  It was on an uplift from the lower valley floor that allowed for great distance views; the piñon/juniper/grassland region was punctuated with mazes of bouldered hills.

I thought the stone was granite; however, the fount-of-all-knowledge with whom I travel informed me that it was all volcanic in origin.  The other side of the valley is all granitic; this side is all volcanic.  Okey dokey, I didn't care all that much, but was completely fascinated with the labyrinthian region.  We spent some time hiking and climbing, wandering really, enjoying the convolutions of nature and also loving the many blooming yuccas - their sleek blossoms were delicately tinged from a creamy hue to a hint of lavender - and other spring blooms.

The arch was farther along the road and we were unsure if we would be able to get to it by car or if it required a hike.  That is Bureau of Land Management (BLM) country; the signage would do any governmental entity proud, but left us with far more questions than answers.

At any rate, we bumped along a dirt track that would not accommodate a lower-chassis vehicle until we came in sight of La Ventana.  It is a highly impressive arch, but one that requires an exceptionally steep scramble to access; it is waaaay on up there.  Although the accompanying photo does not convey it, the climb looked to be pretty close to vertical, so we were satisfied to have come, seen, photographed and left.

The señor was not keen on keeping up with that section of boondocking in order to get to whatever was to be seen at Penitente Canyon, but went along with my thinking that "As long as we're here, we might as well go ahead".  Perhaps his instinct was correct, but at least now we have an inkling: it is a primitive camping area, evidently heavily trailed for mostly mountain bikers and with popular rock climbing routes.

La Garita's Capilla (chapel) de San Juan Bautista . . .

Leaving behind the BLM sites, the señor expressed interest in a red-roofed church we spotted across the plain, so we headed thence and were rewarded with a visit to a venerable structure and the energy of centuries of pilgrims.

The current adobe building was constructed in the 1920s to replace a previous parish church that had burned, and was fashioned after the original.  Abandoned as a church in the 1960s, it has become the San Juan Catholic Spiritual Center, and more recently has been enhanced with the construction of the St. John Paul II Rosary Walk.

Albeit not of that faith, we enjoyed traversing the walk and were impressed along the way at the four-sided monuments with religious paintings on each side.

Amazingly, a section of the 1879 adobe rectory wall has been preserved at the site.

We also strolled through the nearby historic Carnero Creek Cemetery.  For a place with negligible-size population, we were surprised by the huge expanse of the burying ground until we thought about the length of time settlers have been in that valley: permanently at least since 1858, when La Garita was established.

Back into the mountains . . .

Lest we never arrive at our destination, we decided we had best move along and began the next leg of our journey to cross over Poncha Springs Pass, up the Arkansas River, and then top over Tennessee Pass to climb back into the high country (or should I say higher country - the San Luis Valley, for all its desert-like appearance, is well over 7,000 feet in elevation).

In keeping with the weather standard that has been the norm this season, storms and precipitation continued and the mountain views never disappointed.

We stopped to see a monument dedicated to the fallen of the 10th Mountain Division of the U.S. Army, a light infantry unit that received specialized training for fighting in mountainous and arctic conditions.

A rather interesting factoid: At least 62 U.S. ski areas were started by veterans of that division.  From "The History of the Legendary 10th Mountain Division, the Men Who Started USA's Ski Industry": “After the war, ex-soldiers from the 10^th Mountain Division fired-up America’s modern ski industry. They published ski magazines, opened ski schools, and established ski areas, including Vail, Aspen, Sugarbush, Whiteface Mountain and others. At least 62 ski resorts have been founded, managed, or employed head ski instructors that were 10^th Mountain Division veterans.”

In the "What are the chances?" category, a character in the book I am currently reading, "East of the Mountains" enlisted in the 10th Mountain Division!

Going to the dogs at Avon, high-rises & roundabouts . . .

In retrospect, I am unsure just what I expected of the place called Avon located near Vail in the Colorado mountains.  Whatever it may have been, it was not the reality, which is a "fake" town consisting of little else than roundabouts and high-rise condominiums. 

Evidently, Avon was at one time something of a quasi-center for surrounding ranch and mining settlements; however, whatever was is no more, except for one tiny remnant - a small water wheel that was salvaged and restored.  The artifact was built by a pioneer family, the Nottinghams.  A newcomer (evidently that applies to everyone here) actually initiated a historical society for the purpose of restoring the wheel.

If I were the one behind the wheel here, I would never return home; instead, I would be like Charlie on the MTA: someone would have to hand me a sandwich as I circumnavigated yet another roundabout in search of a high-rise that looks like every other high-rise.

Cousin Barb, who is summering not far away, came to visit on a drippy day when there was a dog obstacle course challenge competition going on, so we stopped over for a look-see. 

The dogs were amazing to watch as they tore around the course at break-neck speed leaping over hurdles, zooming through tunnels and weaving crazily through uprights.  I have to laugh at our ludicrous attempts to get photos of the canines soaring over hurdles.  I present two of my attempts below . . . somehow, the shutter just never clicked at the right moment.

And then there were the so-called diving dogs; flying mutts seems much more apropos - they were incredible as they soared over the pool to retrieve whatever toy their person had thrown out for them.  The longest flight we saw was a dog that leaped 32 feet; I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it.

Exploring . . .

In the midst of a driving wander, we wondered at the complete abandonment of a mine and its sizable accompanying town.  I couldn't imagine why nothing at all had been salvaged from the place that was securely fenced and posted (not securely enough, though, to deter graffiti artists who have decorated many of the structures).

A bit of reading and discerning later, we discovered that some sort of contamination has rendered Gilman a so-called superfund site, which makes one presume, or hopeful at least, that there will eventually be remediation.  Lead and zinc were taken from the 19-century Eagle Mine, which has flooded and polluted the groundwater.

While driving a back road to who-knew-where, we were met by signage indicating even that relatively distant area was part-and-parcel of the contaminated area.

During that foray, back there, we came on a pair of gorgeous red-tailed hawks of a variant we have never seen - absolutely beautiful!

And speaking of birds, it appears that I have neglected to keep the avian trip list up to date, so I will remedy that now.  Others we have identified include: brown-headed cowbird, Eurasian collared dove, rock dove, golden eagle, broad-tailed hummingbird, dark-eyed junco, spotted sandpiper, Townsend's solitaire, Brewer's sparrow, house sparrow, violet-green swallow, western wood peewee, redhead, pied-billed grebe, northern flicker, yellow warbler, cliff swallow, great blue heron, robin, osprey, hairy woodpecker, dusky grouse, piñon jay, black-billed magpie.

I cannot imagine the degree of engineering and back-breaking labor that went into constructing this many-miles-long aqueduct that traverses steep mountainsides and spans numerous canyons and river courses.

Those are curved wooden pieces making up the outside surface.

We drove through several picturesque mountains towns: Minturn was one of our favorites, but Red Cliff was by far the most unique.  It is off the main highway and consists of four two-block-long streets.  Quite an interesting little burg: I suspect town hall is no longer in use.

Warmth . . .

With unseasonable weather continuing (Steamboat Springs received 20 inches of fresh snow on the first day of summer!), a jaunt to lower, warmer climes beckoned.  I remembered reading a while back about a new hot mineral springs at Glenwood Springs - an approximate ten-degree difference in air temps, all of which beckoned.

Quite a few years back, we had been to Glenwood and taken a dip in its giant swimming pool filled from the natural hot springs.  I had to laugh at that memory.  Picture this: a larger-than-life pool about waist deep with mist rising off of the surface.  In it are numerous people who slowly slog from one end to the other as they enjoy the warmth and supposed healthful qualities of the water.  The scene for all the world looked like something out of The Night of the Living Dead with zombies slowly walking through the mist.

The new site, Iron Mountain Hot Springs, bears no resemblance at all to the older version.  In fact, it seems fashioned after The Springs at Pagosa, as it sits on the hillside just over the Colorado River.  A bit more upscale than Pagosa, in my opinion, with spa music piped throughout the site and most of it designated as a quiet zone . . .

. . . with a lovely pool at one end for the younger set.

 And no, the señor is not part of the younger set; he has perfected the art of relaxing between soaks.

 Getting to the springs through Glenwood Canyon is quite an experience.  Interstate 70 is the newest way through, although the old highway, a bike road and a railroad share the route.  It is the largest canyon on the upper Colorado with rugged rock walls rising up to 1,300 feet above the river.  Impressively large debris from numerous rockfalls can be seen along the way.  I couldn't find a way to stop for photography within the 12-miles-long canyon; however, we did stop at a spot where the river just enters the canyon, shown in the picture below.  The water was obviously at flood stage, and seems placid but swift at that point.  Just a bit farther down, though, are miles of continuous raging rapids.