REI Winter Gear Clinics

I recently attended a couple of clinics about snowshoeing and cross country skiing at the REI in Fort Collins. Gerry Cashman and Mark Sickles led the programs and opened my eyes to a whole new world of equipment for these activities. I was amazed at how high tech everything has become. When you live and play in the Rocky Mountains, this equipment is necessary if you plan on heading out for some adventures in the winter.

The days of gliding along on flat cross country ski trails on the prairies of Illinois are long gone. I started cross country skiing on a pair of hickory wood skis that had metal coil spring bindings. The poles had oversized baskets made up of leather spoke radials. I think these skis were used for downhill skiing in the 1950’s. I can’t imagine trying to downhill ski on them, but they worked just fine for the gentle slope of our backyard. They were also good for traveling in deep snow, sort of like snowshoes.

I acquired my first real cross country skis from L.L. Bean 25 years ago. They were 210 cm long and made in Norway. The poles were 155 cm long and made in Finland. And the boots were made in a country that no longer exists, Yugoslavia. Compared to the old wooden ones, these narrow skis were as lite as a feather and cut thru the snow like butter. I can only imagine how efficient the equipment of today must be.

Gerry and Mark had all the latest and greatest gear at the clinics at REI. The gear is now tailored for the specific activity you are going to use it for. So, before you throw a pair of snowshoes or skis in the car and head out for a day of fun in the outdoors, you need to ask yourself some questions. For example, are you going to go to a golf course to cross country ski or are you heading up to Cameron Pass? Will you be skiing on man-made trails or will you be breaking your own? Will you be at a resort or in the back country? The answer to these questions will help you pinpoint what gear will be best suited for your activity.

The gear you need includes what type of clothing you will wear. 3 layers of clothing on your top half are recommended. What the layers are made of is very important. You need to stay warm, but not too warm. You don’t want to get hot and sweaty. In order to stay comfortable and dry, you need to wick the moisture away from your body. You also need to have breathable wind proof and water proof outerwear.

Since mountain weather can and does change rapidly, you also need to be prepared for the worst at all times. Carrying things like extra socks, clothes, food, duct tape, paper clips, and a space blanket are essential to peace of mind when you venture away from civilization on your adventures.

If you have never snow shoed or cross country skied and would like to try it, I recommend you rent some equipment from REI. Another option if you want to try snowshoeing would be to go to Rocky Mountain National Park on Saturday January 14th between 10:00 am and 3:00 pm and try some of the hundreds of demo snowshoes that will be available for free.
Finally, I recommend you talk to the experts at REI before heading up to the hills on your next adventure. They will help you enjoy your outdoor experiences more during the winter season here in Colorado.

The Taking of the Tree

I once read a story about a cowboy that went out and cut his own Christmas tree down every December 21st on the winter solstice. It was called “The taking of the tree”. In this story, the cowboy spoke of this annual event like it was a spiritual thing. He would search for the perfect tree, cut it down around sunset, and drag it to his cabin in the woods. There he would decorate it and begin to celebrate the season of Christmas.

In some ways, we are all a little like that cowboy. We search for our perfect tree. We struggle with the logistics of getting it home, and then we kick off our Christmas season by trimming it. When I was little, my family would get a nice Scotch pine tree from the parking lot of the Catholic Church in town. We would stuff the tree in the trunk of the car in order to get it home. We would then have to cut off a chunk of the bottom with a long bladed handsaw. You had to wrestle with the tree and try and balance it on a concrete step in order to cut it. Then we would place the tree in a bucket of hot water in the garage until it was time to bring it in and decorate it.

To this day, every time I catch a whiff of a Scotch pine though, it immediately brings me back to my grade school days at Crestwood Elementary School in Northbrook, Illinois. During the holiday season, Christmas trees and wreaths were actually delivered to our school. Classroom by classroom and floor by floor, the smell wafted up through the school as the janitor distributed them. That smell was something. It smelled like Christmas.

Real trees were eventually replaced in our house by a fake tree. My mother had had enough of the left over needles from the tree getting stuck in out wool carpeting. She also was not fond of the needles clogging up the hose on the vacuum back then. So we learned to live with an artificial tree that resided in the attic for 11 months of the year. As the fake tree patiently waited to come alive each year, I would bug my mom to get the tree down so we could decorate it; especially after “A Charlie Brown Christmas” aired. The fake tree did not smell and was kind of lame, but we made do.

Heading into my high school years, the fake tree was once again replaced by a real tree. Pier pressure was the culprit this time. It seemed everyone in the neighborhood was trying to see who could get the best tree each year. It was like a contest. Scotch pine trees were a thing of the past as the Douglas fir and Frasier fir were the “it” trees of the day. They were much fuller and much more expensive. Their smell didn’t seem to last as long though as the Scotch pines.

As I got older, my homes had higher ceilings, thus the need for taller Christmas trees. The trees were in the ten foot plus range and they were heavy. Luckily, the service in the tree lots increased along with the price of the trees. At local nurseries here in Colorado, the people are usually very friendly and will come down on the price if you ask them. They will also cut a fresh slice off the bottom of the tree with a chainsaw, bag up your tree, and tie it down on your vehicle.

So as you head out this year to find your perfect tree, remember your trees of Christmas past. May they smell like the Scotch pines of my youth.

The Old Barn

My family and I recently spent the Thanksgiving holiday in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. This one time small ranching community has been transformed into a world renowned ski resort just in the span of my lifetime. One of the symbols of Steamboat is a barn located near the base of the ski hill. It belonged to the Moore family when they ran their ranching operation before Ski Town USA was born. This old barn evokes a lot of feelings when I look at it.

When you live back east and see this picture of what looks like the old west with a rustic barn covered in snow and a ski resort in the background, it makes you want to catch the next plane to Denver and strap on the boards. It evokes horses galloping in snow up to their chests with cowboys in hot pursuit. It feels western. The barn is a relic of times gone by. It almost appears to be housing the past as it stubbornly pushes back at the progress of man.

Besides this barn, Steamboat is also known for its Champaign powder snow. The term Champaign powder comes from an observation a skier once made while skiing in deep powder at Steamboat. He said the feather light snow tickled your nose the way Champaign bubbles do and the name stuck. A new marketing campaign for tourism was born.

On our visit, I got to experience some Champaign powder up on Rabbit Ears Pass just east of Steamboat Springs. I went snowshoeing at a place called the West Summit Trail. This trail sits on the west side of the pass at about 9,400 feet. I chose the west side of the pass because it is designated for cross country skiing and snow shoeing only. The east side of the pass is open to snow mobiles as well.

The snow on the pass was already two and a half feet deep. It was so light that it felt like you were walking on pillows when you went off the packed down trail. You didn’t realize how deep the snow really was until you took your snowshoes off and tried to walk around in it. You instantly sank like a stone up to your waist. I took a break on top of a ridge and had a Gatorade seated in the sink hole I created when I took off my snow shoes.

The snow on the ski hill at Steamboat was not as nice. With only roughly twenty percent of the runs open and a base of twenty-one inches or so, the hill got shredded pretty fast when we skied exposing a slick, packed down surface that was challenging. I think they call it icy back east. In any event, the locals didn’t seem to mind and went flying by us with ease. Well, a couple of us anyway. Our daughter flew down the hill with reckless abandon. My wife and I were a little more conservative and fought the hill most of the day. It still felt invigorating though as you tried to keep from sliding off the mountain.

And speaking of sliding off the mountain, the old barn hangs on and remains like a dinosaur from a prehistoric land. Developers have tried to get rid of it. There are condos across the street from it. But the old girl still stands. Her doors are closed to the outside world. Inside, I’ll bet the old west still exists. You can probably here cowboys and horses and all kinds of things western if you were to put your ear to the outside of the barn. At least I like to think so.

Bon Hiver Fort Collins

One of my favorite TV series from the 1990’s was a show called Northern Exposure. The show was set in the mythical town of Cicely, Alaska. The main character was Joel Fleishman, a young doctor from New York who comes to Cicely to pay back the cost of his medical school paid for by the state of Alaska by serving as the town doctor. The show explores what life in Alaska is like compared to what Joel was accustomed to back in New York.

As you might expect, the season of winter and its challenges are a part of the show. Joel’s female interest on the show is a bush pilot named Maggie O’Connell. Maggie helps Joel appreciate his new home by marveling at the natural world. One episode the two of them go for a walk at dusk and it begins to snow. Maggie turns to Joel and says “bon hiver Fleishman” and Joel says back “bon hiver O’Connell”. The scene fades with the falling snow and the onset of night.

This scene reminds me of how it felt to be excited at the prospect of snow as a kid back in Illinois. However, snow before Thanksgiving was almost unheard of and a white Christmas was extremely rare. Believe it or not, it rained more times than not back then. I think what was so appealing about the s word was the fun that could be had in it. Now as adults, we tend to only see the negative effects of snow. You have to shovel it, drive in it, walk in it, and put up with it until it melts.

Our recent early season snowstorms are a perfect example of this change in attitude. I was not a happy camper when 12” of wet snow turned my neighborhood into a war zone. The trees after the storm looked like we had had a tornado. It made me very sad. Sad to see such destruction and genuinely aggravated with the subsequent 9” storm a week later. This was a weird feeling. It may have been the first time I was not glad to see a snow event.

Back in the day, if we did get enough snow to play in, we had a pair of 1950’s wooden downhill skis that we got to navigate with. These strange inventions had coiled springs that you clamped your heals into along with some leather straps that secured your fate with. The skis were way too big for us, but they did work just like snowshoes in deep snow.

My winter adventures continued to expand as downhill skiing was explored in the tiny realms of Wilmot Mountain in Wisconsin. Just getting on a chairlift back then was a supreme challenge that prompted thumb cramps for days due to the icy ramp up to the chair access for rolling back over other peoples skis was a faux pas that was to be avoided at all costs.

Now, early season skiing here in Colorado is a little bit of a tease as well. With very few open runs and spotty snow, the skiing is crowded at best and dangerous at worst. We wait patiently though for more of the white stuff to fall so that more runs will open.

So what does “bon hiver” mean? It is a French phrase that means "good winter" or "have a good winter" and I hope this year you have one. Bon hiver Fort Collins.

The Trail Less Traveled

Thanksgiving is a time for family and friends to gather and reflect on things they are thankful for. Included on my grateful for list this year is the opportunity to write this column for The Coloradoan. In a photo shopped world where information is routinely manufactured to advance someone’s agenda, I choose to share stories about real life and let the chips fall where they may. The response to this column has been overwhelmingly positive which has inspired me to continue to write.

When a recording artist attains a certain amount of success, they usually put out a greatest hits album. Looking back on the last 6 months of writing, certain columns of mine do stand out. The very first one back in May incorporated the theme of the most interesting man in the world. There were also stories about lightning, trees falling, me falling, bear attacks, elk attacks, famous friends, and of course, hiking.

My instructional columns in the beginning soon morphed into stories of past and present adventures. Nobody seemed to mind, so each week, 600 words or so were carefully crafted together to communicate what I had to say. In an Andy Rooney sort of way, I noticed things on and off the trail. For example, did you ever notice how people enjoy reading about someone else’s mistakes when and if they live to tell about them?

On the other hand, my wife thinks I have an odd fascination with bear attacks. At the same time, she can’t understand how I am unable to watch medical shows on TV because of all the gory stuff they show. From my perspective, the natural world order is one thing and the human being world order is quite another. So as we move from the end of the hiking season into the beginning of the winter season, I will try to keep entertaining my audience with observations from the outdoors.

In nature, winter tends to cull the herd of the weak and the sick. For humans, winter sometimes is a dark and cold time. A Kung Fu master once said,( through my stories this winter, I will try and) “Be like the sun, and what is within you will warm the earth.” I hope my writing helps you to enjoy the day and adds something to your Sunday morning.

I plan on skiing and snow shoeing this winter and will incorporate those topics into the column. I will sign off today with a poem either about rugged individualism or a hiking friend’s indecision. Either way, it is one of my step daughter Mallory’s favorites:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost

Happy Thanksgiving.

The Big Buck

I grew up across the street from an 80-acre tract of land known as the Somme Woods Forest Preserve of Cook County Illinois. For a young boy, these woods were filled with adventure. Stately oak trees hundreds of years old stood aligned like pawns on a chess board horizontal to the dividing road and forest entrance. Beyond the oaks were scattered stands of sumac. Fields of tall grasses lay intertwined with marshes and small seasonal ponds throughout the mostly flat landscape.

Trails were carved out by our daily travels. Tree frogs would greet us with their melodic song each spring. Red wing black birds would stake out their claims on the marshes. Mallard ducks would inhabit the small ponds. Fireflies would dominate the night appearing just over the fields in summer. As we got older, white tailed deer moved into the area. In the fall, the thought of seeing a buck deer would have us combing the area for hours. They were elusive though and seldom seen.

I am not a hunter in the sense of killing animals for sport. Back then, some of my friends were hunters and I wanted to simulate the experience. There was a small marsh in the middle of the woods that we planned on pretending to build a duck blind from and pretend to hunt from with our toy rifles. When the day came one gray November day to go sit out in the cold and pretend to hunt ducks, my fake experience was cancelled due to a previously planned trip to Grandma’s house.

I was so mad that I kicked the porcelain bathtub and almost broke my foot when my mom insisted that I get in the car and skip the fake hunting trip in the woods. To this day, I can’t figure out what the lure was and why this make believe reenactment was so important to me. Sitting on cold and wet ground in the middle of the woods in November pretending to hunt does not sound fun to me now.

As I got older, after that episode I am not sure if I can use the word “matured” here, I looked forward every year to early November and my quest to see the big buck in the woods across the street. Back then, I was not yet into photography because if I were, my camera would have been what I would have been hunting with.

In the late afternoon, I would venture far into the woods back where the crows squawking would sometime give you the creeps. As the light faded, sometimes I would build a fire and wait for the big buck to appear. As darkness fell, sometimes a buck would calmly walk by. Year after year, I would return to the same places that I had seen one. It was amazing how consistent they were. One year, I came around a bend on a trail and was within about ten feet of a buck. He looked at me and I looked at him and slowly backed up out of his way.

There was also the time that a certain field seemed like it was going to become a battle ground. Several bucks appeared from the fringes and looked as if they were going to square off in a duel. It was then that the big buck rose up from his day bed in the middle of the field to display his rack and signal to the other less mature males that he was top dog around there. It was quite a sight and to think he had been there all along just waiting for his chance to strut his stuff. If I had had the photography equipment I have now, he would have been quite a shot.

The Moose Story

Motorcycle riders have a certain code, a hand signal that they flash, when they pass each other on the road. Hikers have a certain code as well, passing along valuable information, when they come in contact with one another on the trail. Sometimes the responses the fellow hikers give to this information are a little odd.

This past August, my hiking companion Ras Erdal and I were patrolling for the Poudre Wilderness Volunteers up at Trap Park. Since Ras has been hiking the Trap Park trail annually for the last 14 years, you might say he knows this particular trail. During our hike, he and I talked about past encounters with wildlife such as the time a bull moose rose up after a nap just off the trail and scared him half to death.

On this day, we hiked the entire length of the trail with no wildlife encounters except for a red-tailed hawk sighting. We joked about rogue bears and such as we peacefully ate our lunch at the end of the marked trail. On our way back, we ran into three bow hunters who were scouting out the area prior to the opening of the season which was the following day. As we exchanged pleasantries with the hunters, I spotted something looking at us across the valley.

To everyone’s delight, it was a bull moose. Then, we spotted another one. And then yet another one. To our amazement, we counted six bull moose together at one time. They were feeding on willow branches and keeping an eye on us.

This group of moose reminded me of a bunch of cowboys like the opening to the TV show Bonanza. One of the hunters was bold enough or stupid enough to try and approach the herd. He crossed the valley and slowly tried to get closer to them from below. The moose watched him, but did not do anything aggressive. Personally I was looking for a good tree to hide behind just in case they stampeded toward us.

I had my camera and was taking pictures. If I hadn’t, nobody would have believed us. After a while, the weather began to deteriorate. The rain began to fall lightly as I tucked my camera away in my pack to protect it. Ras and I headed back down the trail towards the trailhead still buzzing at our luck at seeing such a spectacle.

We were almost to the end of the trail when we came upon a man and a woman just starting their hike. We exchanged some small talk about the weather and asked them if they had any rain gear. They seemed ambivalent to the weather and annoyed by our attempt at conversation. So I nonchalantly mentioned that we just saw six Bull Moose together at one time. Once again there was no response other than they see moose all the time when they fish here.

We parted ways and I commented to Ras that their response to our bull moose herd sighting was peculiar. Once at the trailhead, we noticed a camper left wide open. We joked about a bear being inside, or maybe someone sleeping inside, but it was strangely vacant.

We then spotted a fishing pole leaning up against the camper’s bumper. We reasoned that it must belong to that couple we met coming down the trail. They must have been on something. Six Bull Moose, together, and all they could say was “we see moose all the time”. I’ll bet you do.

Alone in Alaska

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

– Henry David Thoreau

Famous for his living experiment at Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, Henry David
Thoreau built a dwelling and lived in it for 2 years and 2 months. He was only a mile from town and visited the real world often. Hate to say it, but old Henry had nothing on Dick Proenneke.

At the age of 51, Richard “Dick” Proenneke decided to build his own cabin up in a remote area of Alaska called Twin Lakes. The nearest
town was 40 miles away by float plane. No walks to town. No neighbors to visit with. He truly was alone in the wilderness.

Dick set out to live at Twin Lakes for twelve months. He ended up staying 30 years.

Can you imagine living everyday without conveniences like: electricity, heat, and plumbing? What about having no grocery stores to get your food from? Dick had no restaurants to go to, no sporting events to attend, no anything but nature all day, every day. I don’t know how he did it.

Dick was self reliant. He had to be to survive. He had to plan ahead for everything. He had to have enough food and water. He had to be very careful not to capsize his canoe when he was on the lake and to be patient and wait out bad weather. He simply could not afford an accident with
no one around to help him.

He had to be in tune with his surroundings and know weather conditions and forecasts at all times. In the winter, temperatures would sometimes drop to 50 below zero. Dick had to make sure his water hole in the lake never froze too thick to cut off his water supply. He had to store his
food high enough so that bears and other creatures could not get to it.

He had to cut enough fire wood to warm his cabin throughout the winter. And speaking of his cabin, he built it by himself before his first winter at Twin Lakes. The place had to be sound enough to keep animals and Mother Nature out and keep the warmth from the fireplace in.

He had to be vigilant each day to properly store his food and make sure everything was in tip top shape. There was no room for carelessness or forgetfulness. I guess when your life depends on it, depends on you, you become more responsible.

Now Dick did get mail and some supplies dropped off to him by float plane every 6 weeks or so. He also had a radio for weather and
emergency communications as well. But from what I’ve read about other people’s experiences of living separated from society, the isolation sometimes is more than most people can bear. I hear that the silence drives them mad.

Personally, the thought of being that alone with things that go bump in the night would scare the crap out of me. Dick wasn’t completely numb to fear though. I saw a picture once of the inside of his cabin and saw that there was a gun holster strapped to his bed post, just in case.

An Elk Paparazzi

Yogi Bear was smarter than the average bear. Rudolf the red nosed reindeer could fly. So why does it surprise me when an elk goes
for a swim and then takes a hike to dry off?

I took a hike to Mills Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park in late September on an unseasonably warm day. When I arrived at the lake, I found people fishing and eating lunch andsoaking their feet in the water. I set up my tripod to take some pictures and eves dropped on several conversations about not falling into the lake when the people were wading around in it.

I then moved on along the shore line to my own private rock outcropping to continue to take pictures. I was getting a little bored of sunning myself like a marmot when all of a sudden something caught my eye in the distance. It was a big bull elk and he was crossing the lake.

The big guy moved from a shallow spot to some deeper water submerging his entire body with his rack of antlers bobbing up and down as he swam. He came to another shallow spot, rose up out of the water, and shook his coat like a dog. He then made a beeline for a rock platform on the shoreline and hoisted himself out of the water like an Olympic athlete getting out of a pool.

I was stunned at my luck. I had the tripod set up and was leisurely clicking away as he performed for me. At one point, the bull appeared
to be looking right at me for some reason. When he removed himself from the lake and started advancing toward me on the path around the lake, I was sure he was coming for me. Other people had started to follow him down the trail like he was the Pied Piper.

What a sight this was. A huge bull elk walking right down the trail after taking a swim. Then, a couple of women appeared next to me on my rock outcropping. They were more than a little concerned with the developing situation. They asked me what we should do if the big guy makes a hard right turn and charges us.

I reasoned that we could all jump in the lake, but after seeing him swim, that didn’t seem like a safe option either. As he approached, the sound of his hooves reminded me of a Clydesdale horse in a Budweiser commercial. My camera was still set up, so I risked it and tried to take his picture.

The first shot was blurry. It reminded me of those pictures when an animal rushes the photographer and this is the last thing he saw before he was trampled. The second shot was clear and eerily massive as he filled the lens. The third shot was of his rear end as he continued on past us down the trail.

After my heart rate calmed down, I decided to call it a day and head back down the trail. I was deep in thought enjoying my hike down when all of a sudden the elk reappeared and tried to ambush me from behind a big boulder. Stunned, I was like, “whoa big guy” and high tailed it backwards around to another big rock nearby. My tactic worked and he gave up his charge and crossed the trail to move on up into the brush.

After calming down again, I went after him and scolded him from the trail. “What’s your problem Bud?” He was rubbing his antlers on some trees and gave me a look as if to say, “What? You think I like all you people gawking at me and trying to take my picture all the time?”

It was then that I realized I had officially become an elk paparazzi.

Indian Summer

“An Indian said you search in vain for what you cannot find.

An Indian said there’s a thousand ways of running down your time.

An Indian didn’t scream it, he said in a song.

And that Indian was never known to be wrong.”

- From the movie “Jeremiah Johnson”

Indian summer is generally regarded as the time period after the first freeze in the fall when sunny days and warm temperatures paint the landscape. Gentle breezes rattle the leaves on the trees coaxing them to take flight and fall to the ground. Color abounds and it is as if summer is back in a different form.

Brilliant stands of yellowish gold trees seem to set the hillsides on fire. Each year is different with some seasons lingering on and on and some cut short by cold fronts from the north. I return each season to a particular spot in Rocky Mountain National Park called West Horseshoe Park to check on a stand of aspens that are easily accessible just off the road.

This year, on a picture perfect day, I returned to the aspen stand to find it exploding with color. Evidently, I am not the only one who covets this place because I also found three other photographers there all with their cameras at the ready and their tripods pointed straight up.

I joined them and jokingly asked them what they were looking at. They told me that they were waiting for a good stiff breeze to blow so that they could capture the leaves falling off the trees. I thought this was interesting and strange at the same time. I wanted to get pictures of the aspens on the trees and they wanted to capture the essence of autumn by freezing time as the leaves would be recorded in mid air.

In Colorado, we seem to have pockets of color which draw people like magnets. In Rocky, these pockets are to photographers what “elk jams” are to drivers. Most people are amicable and friendly just as long as you don’t get in their shot. On this day, the other photographers grew weary of waiting for the wind to blow and moved on to higher ground.

I lingered at this place wondering what scene I wanted to create that would capture the moment. I stood there looking straight up at the color until my neck ached. I got a little dizzy on the hillside trying to see all the different perspectives. After awhile, I accepted the fact that the beautiful day was reward enough. Seasons past had sometimes not been so kind. Strong cold winds with grey skies and snow flurries had sometimes been the order of the day ushering the leaves off the trees.

Eventually, I too moved on in search of more stands of aspens in full display. I drove around the park with polarized sunglasses that enhanced the experience that I was not able to capture with my camera. This disconnect was especially frustrating when there was no place to pull off on the shoulder less ribbon of highway to get a picture. But I kept looking and thought of these closing lines also from the movie “Jeremiah Johnson”:

“The way that you wander, is the way that you choose.

The day that you terry, is the day that you lose.

Sunshine or thunder,

A man will always wonder, where, the fair wind blows.

…where, the fair wind blows.”

And Nature Runs Through It

“But when I’m alone in the half light of the canyon, all existence seems to fade to a being with my sole and memories, and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.

The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words. And some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.”

- The ending of the movie “A River Runs Through It”

Those words have always moved me. I admire how they simply convey complex emotions. Lately, I have been thinking about how to use their format and convert them into how I feel about nature. On a recent hike up to Mills Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park, I got the idea to insert hiking in as the main subject instead of fly fishing. So my version follows:

But when I’m alone in the sunshine of the mountains, all existence seems to fade to a being with my sole and memories, and the sounds of Rocky Mountain National Park, and my quiet footsteps and the hope that an elk will appear.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and nature runs through it.

The Rockies were thrust up by plate tectonics with rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless footprints. Under the rocks are impressions made by millions of travelers on the trails. And some of the impressions are mine.

I am constantly amazed by nature.

Fifteen years earlier, a friend of mine and I traveled to Rocky Mountain National Park for my first visit. We had only one day to view the park and chose Mills Lake as our destination hike. We parked our rental car at the Sprague Lake Park and Ride and took the shuttle bus to the Glacier Gorge trailhead area. We began our hike and on our way to Alberta Falls, we were amazed that there were people actually pushing baby strollers on the trail. Once we cleared the falls, the remainder of the trail was less crowded and we found some solitude at the Lake for lunch. I remember the bugs that were all around the lake on that July day greeted us warmly. Mills Lake was truly an awesome sight though and well worth the logistics of getting there.

In the time since that day, I have visited Mills Lake only one other time and that was in the winter. My recent hike to Mills was on a busy late September weekend, so once again I was encouraged to take the shuttle bus from the Sprague Lake Park and Ride. I was carrying a rather heavy tripod and a backpack with camera equipment that made the standing up on the crowded shuttle bus exciting as we navigated the winding road up to the Glacier Gorge Trailhead.

Upon arrival at the trailhead, I sprang from the shuttle bus onto the trail. I was greeted with unseasonably warm temperatures and sunshine as I made my way up toward Alberta Falls. It is then that the idea of my “nature runs through it” popped into my head. The aspens on the trail were turning and it was a gorgeous day to be alive. I made it to Mills Lake and instantly saw a scene that I had to try and capture. It was a waterfall from the outflow of Mills Lake and it was beautiful.

And once again, I was amazed by nature.

On the trail - October 2, 2011

Cars sometimes hit animals that cross the road. In Michigan, sometimes deer hit cars. In Montana, sometimes deer hit horses.

An incredible story came out of Montana this summer of a wrangler on a trail ride whose horse was hit by a deer. The distracted deer was running for its life from a 750 pound grizzly bear. The grizzly, thrown off by the deer/horse collision, then took up after another horse on the trail ride instead. The chaos that ensued was settled when the wrangler and her horse challenged the charging grizzly head on. A tragedy was prevented as the grizzly bear veered off and gave up the chase. The bear was hungry and its instincts took over. It was trying to get something to eat, deer, horse, human, whatever.

Triggering a grizzly’s predatory instincts is not a wise thing to do. A couple involved in a grizzly attack this summer apparently ran 157 yards before the bear caught them and ended up killing one of them. By running, they triggered the bear’s instinct to chase them and the ensuing mauling took one of their lives. The bear was just being a bear. The people unfortunately did the wrong thing at the wrong time and it was a fatal mistake.

My hiking partner Ras Erdal once had a grizzly encounter with different results than the above mentioned tragedy. He was hiking in Glacier National Park with his wife when they came upon a beat up BEAR-IN-THE-AREA warning sign in the middle of the trail. Because of the condition of the sign, they figured that it was old and not a current warning. So they continued on their hike. All of a sudden, a huge grizzly bear, not more than 20 yards away, stood up on its hind legs and starred at them.

What Ras did next probably saved his life. After an eye to eye contact, he simply froze, titled his head passively down and to the side, and slowly started backing up away from the bear. He instructed his wife to get the bear spray from his pack as they moved slowly away down the trail. The bear did not react aggressively. It simply followed them from a short ways off the trail before heading back into the forest.

The eye contact thing about down and to the side is real bear talk. A smaller bear would do it if he confronted a larger bear and there was a standoff over things like who eats the berries or who can fish in this site. The whole gesture tells the big bear that he’s the boss and that you’ll move out of his way…and that you are not prey.

The ranger that Ras reported this incident to said he couldn’t have done a smarter thing as three other hikers were mauled that same week in the area.

Ras told me he did have a camera around his neck at the time, but feared if he had tried to take a picture, he may have provoked or spooked the bear. Being alive to tell the story is a lot better than being mauled or dead with a blurry picture of a charging bear to prove it.

And speaking of pictures to prove it, my family and I were driving out of Estes Park at dusk the other day when we came upon a huge bull elk just off the side of the road. My camera unfortunately was in my backpack in the back of the car as we drove slowly by to gawk at it. We decided to turn around and get a picture. My wife was in the front passenger seat and was within a few feet of this magnificent creature as we drove by on our second pass. It was then that I got scared. All the elk had to do was turn his head and she could have been gored.

So I quickly drove by and we turned around again. This time I tried to capture the essence of this giant from across the road out the driver’s side window. As the flashes went off in the twilight, the big bull began to move away down the river bank into the darkness. The photo op disappeared, but the memory safely remains.

On the trail - September 18, 2011

Proposed Title: The Sounds of Fall

“The mountains are calling and I must go.” - John Muir

The rhythm of the cricket’s night time melody is slowing down. As the night air cools, the cricket’s energy level seems to wind down, their song slows, and their mellow chorus starts to lull us into lethargy. It is a sure sign that fall has arrived.

Some people dread fall. To them, it is an end to the carefree days of summer and the anticipation of tougher times ahead with the battle of winter on the horizon. To them, the trees are not turning, they are dying. To them, the season of light is over and the season of darkness has arrived.

With the autumnal equinox coming up in a few days, whether we embrace fall or not, it is going to occur. I for one have found memories of fall and appreciate it more and more as I have gotten older.

Growing up in Illinois, I remember hearing and then seeing flocks of geese heading south for the winter. On crisp September mornings, an odd honking sound would appear from high above and you would spot them flying in huge V formations. It was both exhilarating and sad at the same time. The sound of thousands of geese was awe inspiring, but the realization that summer was truly over and that winter was on its way was a little depressing back then.

When it was time for me to go to college, I followed the lead of the geese and headed south eventually ending up at The University of Texas. The honking of the geese was replaced by the cheering of college football fans in stadiums across the country on Saturday afternoons. This new obsession would prove to be a wonderful distraction for the transition from summer to winter.

When a new job found me relocating to the state of Colorado, a new sound of fall was waiting for me in the meadows of Rocky Mountain National Park, the sound of elk bugling. This sound seemed to embrace the idea of it being fall. The bulls seemed to be saying, “Bring it on”. The rut represented the continuation of life with the hope of rebirth in the spring.

In Colorado, the notion that winter was coming to humans was good. Winter meant snow. Snow meant skiing. Skiing meant fun. And in the meantime, we could embrace the change of seasons by getting outdoors and taking it all in.

Hiking in Colorado in the fall is awesome. Cool mornings on the trail help to ease the exertion level of strenuous hikes that squeezed perspiration out of you like a sponge during the warmer summer months. Cobalt blue skies along with the yellows and the oranges and the reds of the aspens await you as the season progresses. The season’s first snows frost the higher mountains and the sounds of the elk bugling echo throughout the valleys.

The noisy crowds of summer are long gone on the trails. Your chances of seeing that Bull Moose munching on willow branches in the mist of the early morning increase. You hear the sound of the crickets as they continue their ballad from the night before. The solitude of the trail helps you to reconnect with nature and embrace the season. This helps you to slow down like the cricket’s song and fondly remember seasons past and at the same time look optimistically forward to seasons to come.

On the trail - September 11, 2011

Proposed Title: These are my mountains

The Longs Peak Scottish Irish Highlands Festival is held in Estes Park each year the week after Labor Day. I discovered this gem back in 1999, the year I moved out to Colorado. I was hiking earlier that day up at Rocky Mountain National Park and ran into a major traffic jam in Estes Park on my way back. I decided to check out what all the fuss was about.

The sound of bagpipes filled the air as I meandered throughout the fairgrounds adjacent to Lake Estes. I then tripped over a rope holding up a performance tent and stumbled into a crowd of happy people listening to a guy named Alex Beaton singing Scottish folk music. Everyone was singing along to the following song:

“For these are my mountains…
And this is my glen…
The braes of my childhood…
Will know me again…
No lands ever claimed me…
Though far I have roamed…
For these are my mountains…
And I’m coming home…”

From the song These are my Mountains by Alex Beaton

I was hooked. He captured how I felt about my new home in Colorado. Also, the guy was hilarious. Back then, Alex looked like Sean Connery and spoke with a thick Scottish accent. In between songs, he entertained the crowd with stories of historical significance from medieval times in Scotland.

It became a tradition of mine to see Alex at the festival each year. He was always there with a new album of songs and/or his wry sense of humor. I once asked him what it was like to perform year in and year out at the festival. He responded simply with “Madness, utter madness” and walked away.

Unfortunately, this year Alex will not be at the festival. Back in July, Alex fell ill and is currently in the battle of his life to recover. I hope he does. I hope he returns to the festival soon, because autumn won’t seem the same without him.

Another of Alex’s songs that captures the spirit of his music is called River and here are some of the lyrics:

“River…
Take me along…
In your sunshine…
Sing me a song…
Ever moving…
And winding and free…
You rolling old river…
You changing old river…
Let’s you and me river…
Run down to the sea…”

From the song River by Alex Beaton

Over the years, it has also become a tradition of mine to play Alex Beaton music in the Jeep on my way to hiking adventures. His story telling of adventures from long ago inspires the attitude necessary to attack life boldly with a can-do spirit. And though his music might be an acquired taste, like fine wine, it has aged gracefully into my western experience. The affect the environment has in your life dominates his songs from hills, to mountains, and from the sea to the shore.

One song Alex sings that I think sums up how I feel on this anniversary of 9/11 is called Flower of Scotland. Some of the lyrics follow:

“Oh flower of Scotland…
When will we see…
Your like again…
Who fought and died for…
Your wee but hill and glen..
And stood against them…
Proud Edward’s army…
And sent them homeward…
To think again…

Those days are past now…
And in the past…
They must remain…
But we can still rise now…
And be the nation again…
That stood against them…
Proud Edward’s army…
And sent them homeward…
To think again.”

Let this be a reminder to those who tried to bring our nation to its knees…we will rise…and be a great nation again.

On the trail - September 4, 2011

Proposed Title: Stewards of the Land

We pulled into the Mount Margaret trailhead parking lot near Red Feather Lakes around 8:00 am. It was a comfortable 56 degrees with bright sunshine. The entry gate to the trail was soaked in morning dew as we walked thru and began our hike. We surmised that it must have rained heavily the day before for the trail was moist sand with tracks of storm water runoff. It was quiet except for the occasional birdsong. The world seemed fresh and new.

Fast forward to around noon and we found the world had changed. The sun had warmed the dry air and the sandy trail had dried out. The light was harsh and the colors of the landscape were washed out. The sounds of the trail were now filled with hikers, dogs, and mountain bikers. We then heard a series of rifle shots. A little startled, we figured someone was target shooting on private property adjacent to the trail. There was now a stark contrast between the peace and quiet of the early morning and the gunshots echoing off the rock formations in the early afternoon.

My hiking partner and I this day were hiking as members of the Poudre Wilderness Volunteers, a local organization who fulfill an important role as the eyes and ears of the United States Forest Service for the Canyon Lakes Ranger District. Our hike today would include cleanup of established campsites, fixing damaged trail signage, and assisting and educating the public on conservation principles as stewards of the land.

I commented to my hiking partner that the trail and the campsites were in relatively good condition considering the easy access to the trailhead by automobile and the amount of use this trail gets by hikers, bikers, and horseback riders. We discovered this was no accident when we spoke with a mountain biker out for a morning ride. The man told us he loved the area and that he too was a member of the Poudre Wilderness Volunteers. He went on to say that we should have seen the campsites last Monday that he cleaned up. I told him he had done a great job and that it had made a difference how I viewed my hike today.

As we hiked, it occurred to me that my partner was also a fine example of someone who cares about the environment and makes a contribution to preserve it for those who will follow. His name is Ras Erdal and he is a first generation American. His parents were from Norway and eventually settled in Brooklyn, New York. Ras remembers growing up in a concrete jungle where there wasn’t a blade of grass for blocks. His sense for adventure and mountains started with the Boy Scouts and eventually led him west where he has been for the last 18 years.

A decade ago, Ras was my mentor on a hike to Mount Margaret for the Poudre Wilderness Volunteers. We have remained friends and I enjoy and appreciate his company and zest for life. On this day, Ras and I would finish our 8 mile hike before 1:00 pm and head back down to Fort Collins contemplating the day’s activities full of contrasts and contradictions. As we drove home, it suddenly occurred to me that Ras is an entire generation older than me. He will be 80 this fall.

Our quiet hike of the morning to me represented the rewards of conservation and stewardship of the land. Our noisy finish to our hike represented the challenges that lie ahead and how people like Ras have made a difference by setting an example of the effort needed to preserve the land for generations to come.

On the trail - August 28, 2011

“Summer's almost over.
Sad, isn't it?
Makes you want to...
I don't know...
Reach out and...
...hold it back.”


From the movie The Great Gatsby

Adventure can be found not only on the trail, but on the water as well. The following is a story from last year that I want to share with you:

I loaded the kayak onto the Jeep around noon and headed off to the lake (Horsetooth Reservoir). It was the last day of August. I had been kayaking all summer long and this was to be a sort of farewell to summer paddle. When I put in at the dock at the south end of the lake at South Bay, it was 12:40 pm.

There was a nice breeze blowing from the south and the lake was virtually empty of motor boat traffic. I decided to paddle into the middle of the lake and let the wind carry me where it may.

The sun was bright and warm and I was enjoying the day. Normally, I would paddle just enough to realize that I had to paddle just as far back. Today was different. Today I just felt like seeing how far to the north I could go.

After about 2 hours, I began to recognize the surroundings of the north end of the reservoir. Wow, that south wind must have really been pushing me. I was going to paddle all the way from the south end to the north end of the lake, cool.

Since I was tiring, my mind began to start to rationalize a minor detail; how was I going to get back to the south end of the lake?

I docked my kayak at Satanka Bay, the North end of Horsetooth, at 3:03 pm. I was alone. The sign said nobody works here on Mondays and Tuesdays. My mind was like...hey buddy, you just paddled the entire length of the lake with a stiff breeze at your back and it took you 2 hours and 23 minutes. How long do you think this is going to take going against the wind?

3:53 pm. I push away from the dock after exhausting all my options and tell myself that I need to pick small incremental goals and just not think about the task at hand. My shoulders are telling me that this is not going to be my idea of a good time.

I select targets on the horizon to aim for like: buoys, rock outcroppings, trees, and fishing boats and paddle on. I begin to think about having hot dogs and a beer when I am finished. By this time, I have begun to count my strokes to keep my mind off my pain. Counting to 100 seems to distract me and I press on.

The south end's familiar surroundings finally come into view and I am close to being done. At 6:02 pm it is over. Surprisingly, I make it back in 2 hours and 9 minutes.

I throw the kayak up on the Jeep and tie it down and am home by 6:45 pm.
Because of errands and other duties, I would not get those hot dogs and a beer I had been hallucinating about until well after 9:00 pm.
It is then that it begins to sink in that I had paddled the equivalent of a half marathon on this last day of August both with and against the summer wind.

And it is then that I realize with contentment:

“There'll be other summers.”

Also from the movie The Great Gatsby

On the trail - August 21, 2011

Proposed Title: Sundance Spirit

“It was so beautiful that I couldn’t pull myself away. The mountain, Timpanogos, was to me like Everest. It was Yosemite on a different scale. Spiritually, it was fascinating. When I left, I couldn’t shake it off. I lay in bed and thought about it. And when I had the chance to go back, I did.”

-Robert Redford, from his biography by Michael Feeney Callan

I first visited Robert Redford’s Sundance in January of 2000. I drove with a friend to Salt Lake City after work on a Friday night. I ended up cross country skiing and having a bite to eat at the Foundry Grille at Sundance the next day. It was to be a short trip for we drove back to Colorado the next day and were at work again on Monday morning. But like Redford or maybe because of him, I too was drawn to this place located about 45 minutes south of Park City, Utah.

My family and I recently vacationed in Park City and the lure of Sundance beckoned again. My wife and I actually visited two times, for the breakfasts at the Foundry Grille were to die for. But there was something else that lured us. We had heard there was a private trail for the guests of the Sundance Resort that led to what is known as the Stewart Cascades. We were told that it was an easy trail and it was not to be missed.

Missed is almost what we did in just trying to find the trailhead. If they want this trail to be hidden and hard to find, mission accomplished. I had to ask several people the trailhead’s location and then walked right by the stone marker that was concealed by overgrown grass.

Overgrown seemed to be the theme of this trail from the get go. The trail was very narrow, slanted, rolling, and looked more like a trek through the North Woods of Michigan rather than the mountains of Utah. We saw ferns and lush vegetation that encroached the trail at every opportunity. It was a wild trail for sure.

As we proceeded down the trail, we could hear and then see the roaring cascades known as Stewart Falls. When we arrived at the base of the falls, there was so much spray from the cascading water that a photograph of the falls put your camera at risk of getting seriously wet. I managed to take a quick shot from the side and then we headed back down the trail.

I wondered if this trail was left natural unpurpose or if they had had such a wet summer that it was just a little out of control. It did seem to fit in with the rest of the rustic surroundings though. This particular adventure was just another piece of the puzzle that is Sundance.

They shot the movie Jeremiah Johnson starring Robert Redford on and near this location. An old mountain man early in the movie sizes up Johnson and then proceeds to test him. He says, “Now boy, are you sure you can skin Griz?” Johnson cock sure replies, “Just as fast as you can fetch ‘em.”

Well in the movie, the old mountain man rustles up a Grizzly and has it chase him down into the cabin where Johnson is. Amongst the ensuing chaos, the old mountain man jumps out the back window of the cabin and yells to Johnson, “Skin ‘em pilgrim and I’ll fetch ya another!”

I saw a picture of that cabin hanging on the wall at Sundance with a caption that indicated that the photo was taken near Stewart Falls. Although our adventure did not include a close encounter with a grizzly bear, we now understood a little better the spirit of what it must have been like to walk in Redford’s shoes back in the day.

On the trail - August 14, 2011

Proposed Title: Fifty-One and Having Fun

“Rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! the solid earth! the actual world!”

Henry David Thoreau, The Maine Woods

The idea was to spend my birthday hiking and taking pictures of wildflowers in the Wild Basin Area of Rocky Mountain National Park, but after arriving at the park, my plans changed. The Ranger at the entrance station suggested I head away from the crowds of the easy trails and maybe head up to Finch Lake in search of adventure. He mentioned that a bull moose had been spotted in that area and to be on the lookout so that I would live to see another year. He also sang “Happy Birthday” to me, so I figured this guy was good karma and I heeded his advice and headed for the trailhead.

The signpost at the trailhead read “Finch Lake – 5.0 miles”. This fact led me to pause. I was prepared for rain, bugs, and crowds, but I had no food and only a half filled water bottle to tide me over. I looked into the forest where the trail led up and I thought maybe I’ll just go a little ways and see what’s in there. It is then that an elderly couple came down from the trail and mentioned that the trail was too steep for their liking. They had gone maybe a quarter of a mile before turning back. It was almost a challenge. After all, this was my birthday and I wasn’t exactly in an “I’m getting too old to do this” mood. The gauntlet had been thrown down and without a second thought; I began my hike up to Finch Lake.

The uphill hike was strenuous over a rocky trail. The rain held off and the clouds helped to minimize the sweat from the effort. On a warm sunny day, this hike would require a whole lot more water than I was carrying. I was curious to see Finch Lake, but didn’t know if it was a good idea to extend myself with no supplies. I continued up the trail. At the 1.8 mile signpost, I felt pretty good. Only 3.2 miles to go, but what did those miles consist of?

Rock, trees, and no wind on my cheeks was what I saw and felt as I continued up into the forested landscape. I passed through a barren landscape that had burned in 1978. With 2.2 miles to go, I thought I was at the top of somewhere, but it was a false summit and on I continued up into the unknown. I had come this far and was now committed to see Finch Lake.

In the back of my mind was the fact that I had no food and very little water left. I rationalized that I would not need water on the way down. This was doable, just keep going. The trail began to descend and I passed an actual rushing stream of water that lifted my spirits. I was getting closer to the lake.

I then heard a familiar bird call, the shrill of a bald eagle, and suddenly, Finch Lake appeared. I rested a while and soaked up the gorgeous scenery. The wind cooled me off as it blew over the lake. I was content. I had made it. Then, my mind started to play tricks on me with thoughts like hunger, thirst, and 5 miles to go to make it back down.

It wasn’t exactly the Bataan Death March, but I did shuffle my feet a little in a minor delirium state as I made my way down the hill. It had been worth it though. “Rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks!” It was indeed a great day to celebrate life.

On the trail - August 7, 2011

Proposed Title: Mohawk Lakes Trail Shines

Ski resorts make good places for family vacations in the summer. My wife’s brother and his family from Michigan along with his best friend and his family from Utah have joined us a few times now for family vacations at ski resorts in the mountains of Colorado. Last summer, we rendezvoused in Breckenridge, Colorado and it was my job to plan a nice hike that all 10 of us would enjoy. I researched the area and came up with what I thought would be the perfect family hike. My selection was a hike to a lake located at 12,000 feet that all of us could physically and mentally tackle.

The Mohawk Lakes trailhead lies just a few miles out of town south of Breckenridge. I scouted out the first part of the trail early in the vacation with a couple of the sons from the families. This detail is important to note because 7 years earlier, a simple hike on Snowmass Mountain turned into an epic adventure that ended up with a rescue ride from an elderly couple in a Lexus from across the valley. I was looking to redeem my sense of direction and regain a little confidence from the other parents with this scouting trip.

As my brother-in-law once said, “My kids would have followed you to Mexico.” So when we arrived home early from our scouting adventure, they informed me that they had forgotten all about that time in Snowmass. This is a good thing, because there is a certain amount of pressure in being an avid hiking enthusiast. People tend to trust you and rely on your judgment for their family vacation fun. Last year, I was more than up to the challenge.

I decided to scout the second half of the hike by myself. It was a good thing because when I decided to check out the 4-wheel drive alternate route to try and start the hike higher up, I was greeted with a road that took over an hour to go up only 5 miles. If my Jeep was a challenge to maneuver, the Chevy Tahoe rental filled with 10 of us would be impossible. We would be hiking from the start of the trail.

The sweeping vistas that I saw were breathtaking as I hiked up the second part of the hike. I knew it was going to be a memorable hike when my cell phone played the song “Rocky Mountain High” as I received a voice mail while enjoying the view on a steep hillside. Along the way to the top were mining relics and broken down log cabins. Pink elephant flowers lined the high mountain streams and there were waterfalls.

The day came when it was time to put the two halves of the hike together and get the party of 10 up the hill. 3 families from 3 different states present quite a few variables to consider. The kids settled into a medieval jousting pace with sticks serving as swords in their make believe world. “Malrok, swordsmaden of the high pines” battled her way up the mountain. The adults basked in the warm sunshine and enjoyed the refreshing breeze as they too marched up toward the lake.

Mohawk Lake appears like an infinity pool as you arrive at the destination. The Michiganders enjoyed frolicking in the left over snow rimming the lake. We spotted a large trout swimming near the shore and then it was time to descend out of the thin air. The hike down reversed the views and we slowly descended back to reality taking with us memories that will last a lifetime.

On the trail - July 31, 2011

Proposed Title: Teton Treehouse Adventure

One hot, midsummer afternoon in the early 70’s, my friend Russell and I were sitting on a concrete stoop in front of my house staring at the forest preserve across the street. As the dog days of summer were setting in, we found ourselves bored out of our minds. Randomly, an idea popped into my head while gazing at the oak trees across the street. We should build a treehouse.

We selected a dead willow tree stump in my backyard as our project location. We proceeded to build a fortress with discarded building materials. It was to be the place where imagination, creativity, and adventure were encouraged during my youth. So when it came time to select an adventure to help celebrate my 30th birthday, it is no wonder a treehouse would somehow be part of it.

The name caught my eye as I was flipping through a bed & breakfast guide book looking for a place to stay as a base camp for an adventure. I stopped when I saw the name “A Teton Treehouse”. Located in Wilson, Wyoming just outside of Jackson Hole and Grand Teton National Park, this place looked amazing.

Tucked away in the trees on a north facing slope off Heck of a Hill road sits the bed & breakfast named “A Teton Treehouse”. 95 steps made of railroad ties are carved into the hillside and are your first test at aerobic fitness as you make your way up to what could be described as a modern day Robinson and Caruso hideaway. The spirit of the Old West mixed with the solitude of the wind thru the pines immediately begins to melt away the stress in your shoulders as you begin to relax.

The rooms can best be described as sanctuaries of casual elegance. From massive log rafters to downy soft comforters, you feel as though you are tucked away somewhere special. The large windows verify that you are indeed in a treehouse in the trees overlooking Jackson Hole.

With all that said, what really makes the place is the owner, a guy by the name of Denny Becker. Denny originally made a name for himself in the area as a river guide. When it was time to get married and start a family, he built the treehouse. Much like a pioneer would build a log cabin; Denny expanded his creation adding a room here and there until he decided to make it a bed & breakfast. Lucky for us he did.

This base camp for adventure originally served as the launching point of an epic backpacking trip into Grand Teton National Park. I use the word epic not to describe the degree of difficulty of the trip, but the degree of greenhorn that my friend Jim and I displayed. We carried more food and clothing on that trip than the lady from the Titanic. We brazenly shunned Denny’s help when it came to packing for the trip and it cost us big time. One blown out knee and a strained friendship were the result, but we both got over it.

We stayed both before and after the trip at the treehouse. Like all great adventures, we looked forward to, enjoyed, and now remember that trip fondly. After all these years, I remain good friends with Denny Becker. His wisdom about nature and life has been invaluable to me. If you ever get a chance to spend some time in the Jackson Hole area, I highly recommend you spend some time at A Teton Treehouse. It is a memory you will not soon forget.

On the trail - July 24, 2011

Proposed Title: Activate your senses to enjoy hiking more

In our everyday lives, we shield our sanity from the barrage of the information age by tuning out. Since our senses are the banquet at which we feast when it comes to hiking, we need to reactivate them to truly appreciate what nature has to offer.

When we hike, we need to tune into the world around us. What we see, hear, smell, touch, and taste produces the experience. Sometimes it is the little things in nature that make the biggest difference, so tuning into those things can enhance your hiking experience.

If you are one of those people who hike with time goals in mind and have set your sights on conquering the trail, you most likely are going to miss most of the nature “experience” and probably my point as well. Life is a journey, slow down and enjoy the ride. Take time to absorb the natural world around you.

Just last weekend I was hiking with an old friend and his wife when we came upon an aspen tree on the side of the trail that was cheeping. We looked at the tree and saw no birds on its branches. Upon further review, we discovered an adult woodpecker in a hole in the trunk and baby woodpeckers in another hole higher up. Thru-hikers would have probably blown right by and never saw them.

Also last weekend, we were hiking through a wet, marshy portion of the trail and we spotted Pink Elephants. No, we were not under the influence of drugs and alcohol. Pink Elephants are a type of flower that is usually found at a much higher altitude than we were at. If we had just been concentrating on plotting our course out and keeping our feet dry, we would have missed them as well.

As part of our hike last weekend, we heard hummingbirds and never saw them and saw bluebirds that we never heard. We saw wildflowers of almost every color, but really didn’t smell them. We tasted the sandwiches we made for lunch and felt the mountain breeze that cooled us as we walked.

I had hiked this trail by myself years ago. I remember making good time and covering a lot of ground, but that was about it. By slowing down and smelling the roses so to speak, my experience was quite different this time around. As Ferris Buehler once said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and take a look around every once in awhile, you might miss something.”

4th of July Memories

The following are my memories from the past half a hundred fourth of July's:

The next door neighbors, the Walbams, having a 4th of July party in their backyard. They had coolers filled with soft drinks like Orange Crush, Grape Crush, and Strawberry Crush. You were welcome to have as many as you wanted. Their daughter Wendy went up on their garage roof to watch the fireworks display in town.

Lighting off snakes and sparklers and punks. One year we lit off road flares and I got asthma from all the smoke.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a whole plate of spinach that my mother told me to eat before I could go out and watch the fireworks. Now you know why I hate vegetables.

Sitting in our car at Glenbrook North High School with a bag of homemade popcorn watching the fireworks until it started to rain.

Watching all the floats go by on Dundee Road in the afternoon after all the parades in the area were finished.

Being in Arlington Stadium in Arlington, Texas watching the Rangers play the Yankees. It was well over 100 degrees. Burt Hooton was the winning pitcher. They played the song Proud to be an American and the whole crowd cheered at the line "across the plains of Texas" as jet fighters flew over the stadium. Huge fireworks display after the game.

Being in Olympia, Washington where it was so cold and rainy that we had a huge bonfire going. The fireworks display was self made by people shooting off their own around a lake. Very Sarah Palin like.

Water balloon fights during the parade in Ouray, Colorado.

An F16 buzzing Main Street in Ouray, Colorado.

Mallory running in races in the park in Ouray, Colorado.

The year the fireworks display in Ouray caught the hillside on fire and they had to cancel the rest of the show.

Driving over Independence Pass near Aspen, Colorado. Then, being on the roof of a restaurant in Aspen watching the fireworks show over Aspen Mountain. Then driving back to Vail with a full moon overhead.

Mallory and Madison throwing popper fireworks at people from the Jeep driving out of Aspen, Colorado.

Watching the fireworks from the Christmas House in Ouray, Colorado as they played the 1812 Overture synchronized to the fireworks

Hiking to Blue Lake in the Rawaah Wilderness near Cameron Pass, Colorado in snow up to my waste. Singing the Star Spangle Banner on the way down until other hikers happen to pass by.

Watching the 4th of July parade in Ouray and then driving home 8 hours to Fort Collins. Ended up watching the fireworks display in Fort Collins by myself from the Colorado State University parking lot.

Watching the fireworks around the area from a church rooftop in Hurst, Texas.

Watching the fireworks display in Austin from Saint Edwards University by myself.

Watching the Shriner's ride their magic carpet cars in circles at the Northbrook, Illinois parade.

Listening to the aspen leaves flutter and the humming birds wings whiz by the window in the early morning in the bed and breakfasts of Ouray, Colorado before the parade.

A clown in the parade in Ouray, Colorado scolding us for shooting a water gun at him. He yelled, "Don't do that you moron, this is makeup!" Really?

I am sure there are more memories...and I'll add them as I remember them...

On the trail - July 17, 2011

Suggested Title: Return to Ice Lake

Seventeen years ago, I came across an article in Reader’s Digest about Ouray, Colorado. I was living in Illinois at the time and when I saw the picture of the town surrounded by towering mountains, I decided right then and there that I had to go. I went in July and stayed at a bed & breakfast called the Damn Yankee where I thumbed through some books on places to hike in the area. One hike in particular caught my eye. It was called Ice Lake.

Situated approximately halfway between Ouray and Silverton, the Ice Lake Trailhead is 5 miles in off the highway in the South Mineral Campground area. The gravel road you have to travel on adds to the adventure as you feel civilization slipping away. Starting at an elevation of around 9,400 feet, the hike is steep in places, but you are rewarded with natural features like towering waterfalls just off the trail. What made this hike so appealing was that Ice Lake sits at 12,262 feet. This I had to see.

When I made it up to the lake, I was rewarded for my effort with a view that reminded me what Ireland must look like. The lake was forest green surrounded by lush green hillsides and marsh marigolds. A lone fisherman was trying his luck on the far side of the lake. Then, tiny snow pellets began to fall, in July. The picture I took of Ice Lake sat on my desk in my office in Chicago to remind me that places like Ice Lake do exist.

Six years later, I returned to the Ice Lake Trailhead. I had purchased some new hiking boots and just wanted to go a few miles on the trail to break them in. I had no food or water, like I said I wasn’t planning on going very far. Well, I met a couple of folks from Arizona on the trail and they were kind enough to give me a candy bar or two and a soft drink and before I knew it, we were at the top again looking at Ice Lake. It takes about 3.5 hours to hike up to ice Lake and a little under 2 hours to hike down.

My wife and I have returned to Ouray many times over the years for their Fourth of July celebration. I have told her about Ice Lake and how cool it is, but we always seem to run out of time on our visit and not get around to hiking to it.

Then, one year we decided to hike it with her daughter. We almost made it to the top before a storm forced us to turn around. My wife and I tried again the next year, but once again a storm forced us to abandon the final part of the hike. That year, we had to take refuge under some bushes and trees and wait out a downpour until we got too cold and had to retreat once again.

The Ice Lake trail is challenging and to miss the weather, you need to start your hike early in the morning before the afternoon thunderstorms and snow showers roll in. You will see beautiful forested landscapes that turn into high alpine vistas as you hike. This classic hike rewards you for all your effort and is one you won’t soon forget.

On the trail - July 10, 2011

Proposed Title: The Spirit Bear of Taggart Lake

My friend Jim and I were hiking in Grand Teton National Park years ago when an elderly couple hid in a bunch of trees and jumped out at us growling like bears. It scared the-you-know-what out of us and at the same time it was hilarious. I thought it was great that they were still having fun, at our expense, at their age. They meant no harm and we talked with them for awhile until a lady, who was as white as a ghost, came running down the trail. All she mumbled as she ran by was that she just saw a bear.

This was ironic indeed. Jim and I decided to go check it out. We scanned the hillsides up and down as we carefully hiked in the direction the lady had just come. Just as I was thinking this lady was also pulling our leg, a cinnamon colored black bear walked down the hill in front of us and proceeded to walk away from us down the trail. I could hardly contain myself as I yelled to Jim to get his camera out and for us to follow it. He looked at me like I was crazy. Follow it?

All I was thinking at the time was that we’ll be careful, keep our distance and watch it. We did just that. The bear made a nice comfy spot in a huckleberry patch and proceeded to enjoy an afternoon snack. Jim and I had binoculars and watched the bear for several minutes. Other hikers walked by and asked what we were looking at. We said, “Oh, there’s just a bear over there eating huckleberries.” They said, “A bear? “

We were quite excited with our bear sighting; in fact it was the highlight of our trip. We decided to call it “The Spirit Bear” as we discussed it that night over beers. Jim and I had backpacked together a decade earlier in Grand Teton and we had returned to relive some memories and make some new ones.

Years later, I took my wife to Jackson Hole to hike in Grand Teton National Park. As we hiked, I told her about all the adventures my friend Jim and I had when we backpacked and hiked in the park. The Spirit Bear came up and I told her that I wished we would catch a glimpse of him or her. As it started to rain, we descended down the Taggart Lake Trail toward the Jenny Lake Ranger Station where there was a store for us to get out of the rain and for her to do a little shopping. As she shopped, I looked around the ranger station where I came upon an article tacked up on the wall. It was an article about the Taggart Lake Bear. This must be the Spirit Bear Jim and I had seen years before.

It was to be one of those stories you wished you never saw. Unfortunately for our spirit bear, it had become too accustomed to humans and had approached some hikers and according to the Park Service had to be euthanized for the safety of the visitors of the park. The rain was not the only thing that dampened my spirit that day.

As I look back on it now, I see a moment frozen in time where a bear sits lazily in the sun munching on huckleberries and I am reminded that life is fragile and we must appreciate the moments of magic to their fullest. The Spirit Bear of Taggart Lake will live on forever in my mind as will that afternoon in the sun so long ago.

On the trail - July 3, 2011

Suggested Title: Only Cats have Nine Lives

A long time ago, in a land far, far away, back before hiking boots were invented, there was a place called Starved Rock. Legend has it that Starved Rock got its name from an old Indian battle where one tribe took refuge on an outcropping high above their enemy. While they were now safe from attack, their enemy patiently waited for them to run out of food and they died from starvation.

What does this have to do with hiking? Well, Starved Rock is also the site of a near tragedy early in my hiking career. It is a funny story though…

Starved Rock is a state park in northeastern Illinois where sandstone bluffs tower over the Illinois River. It was the month of May and the world of brown had begun to burst forth with flowering trees and deciduous deliciousness. My friends and I were young and ready for adventure. It was to be a weekend camping trip to Starved Rock with miles of trails to explore. But after hiking up and down the ravines, we were soon tired of the monotony of the composted forest. Where was all the cool stuff?

Then we came upon a sandstone outcropping that looked like it led up to another world. I volunteered to climb up it first. As I made my way up, I reduced the natural feature to a slippery mud slide. I made it up, but no one else could follow now. We were separated. I was now on a new path above them.

After awhile, we both heard it, something rushing, a waterfall! I was above them now by maybe 50 feet. They were checking out the cool waterfall and I was stranded high above them.

Come on in, the waters fine they yelled. Jump they yelled. Are you crazy?

Dilemma. Do I go back the way I came or figure out a quicker way to get down there? Did impatience trump common sense? Yup.

So I got a crazy idea. All I had to do was use tree roots like ropes and lower myself down. So I started out down the debris laden cliff side and soon my roots ran out. I was left hanging about 30 feet from the water down below. My friends were all encouraging me to jump? Are you crazy?

Suddenly, the decision was made for me as the entire ledge I was clinging to gave way. I was in a bad way, falling, or as Charlie Sheen would say, “winning”. I somehow pushed off the hillside. I missed the rock ledges sticking out on the way down. And I cupped my body like a ragdoll as I crashed into the 3 feet of water below.

Then, I stood up, with just a fat lip from screaming as I impacted the water, and my friends were rolling on the ground laughing at what they had just witnessed. All I could think of at the time was, bummer, my hiking boots are soaked!

Looking back on this experience, maybe I thought I was invincible being in my teens or maybe I just hadn’t lived long enough to fear all that could have happened. We all know only a cat has nine lives, so you better think twice before doing something stupid on the trail that could end a lot worse than a fat lip and wet feet.

On the trail - June 26, 2011

Proposed Title: See the light while taking pictures when you hike

Would you like to take better pictures of your hiking adventures? In this installment of my column, I will attempt to help you get better results with tips on what does and doesn’t work on the trail as far as photography is concerned.

First off, your camera has to be accessible if you hope to get good pictures. Cameras that are packed away in our backpacks tend to stay there.

Imagine you are hiking along and suddenly come upon a bull moose standing in a shallow pond eating willow branches. The mist from the cool morning hangs in the air as the moose stares right at you. What a picture, but not if the camera is not within reach.

So if you want to capture the moment, the camera has to be available. Point and shoot cameras can be holstered on your belt or put in a fanny pack that is turned around to the front for easy access. SLR cameras on the other hand pose a bit more of a challenge.

I do not recommend you hang your SLR camera around your neck with a strap while you hike. The camera tends to knock into your breastbone as you amble along. Personally, I hold my camera in my hand while I hike. This is not advisable though if you are hiking a very rocky trail or having to make a lot of stream crossings.

When you take your pictures is important too. In Colorado, we have very harsh light during the summer months. In other words, it is too bright outside most of the day for decent pictures. Try taking your pictures early morning or late afternoon when the angle of the sun is not directly overhead. These times pose problems as well though.

Have you ever been by a beautiful lake in the morning and tried to take a picture from the shadows out into the light? Most of the time, the camera will not be able to capture what you see. The picture will be either too dark or overexposed and washed out, so avoid taking pictures from the dark into the light. Step out into the light to get a better shot.

Planning ahead always helps when it comes to photography. Charge your camera battery before each hike, bring a soft cloth to clean your lenses with, and make sure your memory card has plenty of room for the pictures you plan on taking.

If you have ever taken pictures of sunrises or sunsets, you know that the light changes moment by moment. If you take a sunrise picture too soon, it is too dark with little color. As the sun rises, the light increases until when it is fully up, it is too bright and washes things out. The trick is to know what your camera is capable of and adjusting accordingly. For example, I sometimes shoot sunrises and sunsets with the action setting of the camera. This setting enables the camera to capture the relatively small amount of light with a faster shutter speed.

If you can remember that what you see on the trail is not necessarily what your camera can record, you might just be able to capture the light affectively and take better pictures of your hiking adventures.

On the trail - June 19, 2011

Proposed Title: Spray away trouble with sunscreen and bug spray

Summer is here and the hiking is easy. As we find ourselves spending more time outdoors, our exposure to the elements increases as well. As we hike, we need to protect ourselves from these elements.

Since the skin is the biggest organ in the human body, let’s start with protecting your skin from the sun. Hollywood has glamorized the cowboy of the west with his weather beaten skin, but I think most of us would like to try and avoid getting crow’s feet and wrinkles on our faces due to overexposure to the sun. As far as I know, skin like a catcher’s mitt is not a desirable characteristic of beauty in our current culture, so take the time to generously apply sunscreen to your face, ears, neck, arms, legs, and everywhere else where your skin is exposed to the rays of the sun.

Wearing a hat protects you from the sun as well. It tends to keep you cooler on hot days and cuts down on the glare from the bright sunshine. And speaking of glare, let’s not forget your eyes. Sunglasses are a must at altitude to protect your eyes from damaging UVA rays.

Wearing lightweight, loose-fitting clothing can help protect you from the sun as well. Do not forget to apply sunscreen to the parts of the body that you reveal when you remove the bottom portion of your field pants or roll up your sleeves.

Just when you are feeling comfortable on being protected from one element, another one rears it annoying head. Insects, or bugs as they are more commonly called, can make your hiking experience a living hell.

Imagine hiking on a hot day with a high mountain lake as your destination, when upon arriving at the lake, you are greeted by a swarm of annoying bugs. Without bug spray to protect you, your relaxing lunch turns into a twitching, itching, swatting event that can ruin your hike.

Bug spray is a must because these little buggers are persistent. They will follow you down the trail. They will battle the wind to bite you. And they just might be waiting for you to come along and either fall on you or crawl up your shorts while you are sitting on that comfortable log in the shade on the side of the trail.

Yes, bugs wage psychological warfare on us hikers. They lie in wait in all the most comfortable places on the trail. They wait in the shade for an unsuspecting hiker to come along. They wait by streams as we try and cool ourselves off or soak our feet. And they love to wait until we are just about to take that perfect picture and then ouch, son-of-a-gun, what the heck just bit me?! All I can say is I hope your camera has a motion blur setting.

A final word on lathering up with sunscreens and bug spray and that is some people don’t like all that stuff on their skin. It makes them sweat, smell weird, and feel dirty. Newsflash, you can take a shower when you get home from your hike and wash all that protection off and you won’t have sunburned skin and itchy bumps to deal with either.

On the trail - June 12, 2011

Proposed Title: Become bear aware while hiking in bear country

It is said that the difference between a black bear and a grizzly bear is that a black bear will chase you up a tree and a grizzly bear will knock the tree down. Note to self; avoid trees as a means of escape if I am attacked by a bear.

I recently received an e-mail from a man who told me that he, his 10 year-old daughter, and their dog had an encounter with a black bear and her cub while they were fishing from the shoreline near Inlet Bay on Horsetooth Reservoir. He told me the mother bear and her cub approached them and acted aggressively. He told me that he instructed his daughter to make a break for it and run as fast as she could back to their car at their campsite. He said he frantically grabbed his dog, kicked off his crocs that were slowing him down, and followed his daughter back to the car. He said the bears disappeared and were not spotted again. His question to me was what should he have done?

If I had to choose one word to describe a bear, it would be unpredictable. This unpredictability is another risk you have to negotiate when hiking in bear country.

So what do we know about bears?

Well, while a bear’s sense of smell is unbelievable, their eyesight is rather poor.

Bears can run faster than a horse for short distances.

They will fiercely defend against any perceived threat to their young.

And while their diet consists of mostly plants, bugs, and berries, they have a tendency to guard a carcass or food supply.

Now that we understand them a little better, here are some things you want to avoid while hiking in bear country:

• Surprising a bear is not a good thing, so make noise when you hike so that a bear can hear you coming. A bear will most likely head in the opposite direction from you if it senses your presence.

• Baby bears are really cute and really dangerous. If you see a cub, immediately try and get as far away from it as possible because mom can’t be far off and you never want to be between a mother bear and her cub(s).

• If you come across a fresh carcass on or near the trail, stay away from it as well. Bears also tend to try and cover carcasses to hide them from other scavengers until they return to feed on them.

Now while bear attacks do happen, there is no hard and fast rule on what to do. As I said before, bears are unpredictable. While one bear might charge you as a warning and then veer away from you at the last second, another may try and rough you up a bit, and still another may view you as one of their main food groups, but this is extremely rare.

While information is good in most cases, I do not recommend you read books about bear attacks, especially if you are hiking or camping in bear country. I have read my fare share of these accounts and let me just say that you don’t really want to fill your head with all of that negativity about bears.

Bears are beautiful creatures and a real treat to see at a distance in the wild. Being bear aware while you are hiking will add to your hiking risk management skills and help you to not stumble blindly into an avoidable dangerous bear encounter.