Category: Nature

The Tarryall

The Tarryalls from Sand Creek

Tarryall Mountains,
Colorado treasure.
Smack dab in the middle of the state,
And overlooking South Park.

Improbable and majestic granite towers,
Boulders of all sizes,
Alpine tundra,
Bighorn Sheep,
And Bristlecone Pines.

Rambling streams and beaver ponds.
Smoky Quartz and Topaz.
Calypso Orchids,
Old-growth forest,
And a creek that disappears.

Tales of Utes,
The last wild buffalo,
Wolves,
Gunfights,
Walt Whitman on a train,
Homesteaders,
And miners rich with gold.

Bison Peak, McCurdy Mountain,
McCurdy Tower, and McCurdy Park.
X Rock, the Sand Creek Buttress,
Twin Eagles,
And Spruce Grove.

Humongous crystals, albino trout,
Ute Creek, and Bison Pass.
The Hourglass Burn, Lost Park Wilderness,
Brookside-McCurdy Trail,
And the Old Miner’s Cabin.

A wild place with few people,
Plenty of mystery,
And a warm wind that whispers “Tarryall.”

Audio Version:

McCurdy Mountain,
Tarryalls

Sunset

Sunset

Whether you’re sitting on a ridge,
Leaning against a tree,
Propped against a rock,
Resting on a bench,
Or rocking in a chair.
It doesn’t matter.

It’s all good,
And you can watch it unfold every day.

The Sun falls
Onto the horizon.
And then,
Disappears.

It happens differently everywhere.

But in the mountains,
A final burst of light,
Comes before the night.
It’s called Alpenglow.
For a brief moment,
Distant peaks come to life.
Mutedly brilliant,
Spectacular, and subtly bright.

Then,
The shadows take over.
After a short time,
They melt together,
Into a big invisible mass,
And finally, just disappear.

At that point,
The night is in control.
Light and color take a much deserved rest.
A first star appears,
The day is done,
Gone the sun.

Audio Version:

Evening Light on the Tarryall Mountains

In Celebration of the Winds

Cirque of the Towers,
Wind River Range

Rumbling rivers, creeks, and streams.
Water left pure,
From the moment it falls
On the Continental Divide, as rain or snow,
And begins its journey
Down to the oceans.

Some of it goes into the ground.
Some fills my cup.
Some provides the Brook Trout a place to live.
Some gives the Spruces a drink.
Some makes wallows for the elk.
Some creates glaciers.
And some goes back into the sky and falls again.

Up here, the water is guarded for a while,
By the Winds,
The Wind River Mountains that is.

The range of mountains is inhospitable to some,
But beckoning to others.
The place is too rough for roads,
But covered with paths.

People go there,
To hike, fish, climb, camp,
Meander, sit, ponder, and dream.

But few remain–
There are other places
Better suited to
Building, driving, using, living,
And staying.

Besides,
Protecting the water
Is a full time job.

The mountains, forest,
Creeks, and meadows,
Are left free to do
What they do best.
And they do it well.

The water will move on
And nourish the flatlands.
It’ll irrigate corn, bathe babies,
Water lawns, and get purified
For drinking.

One way or another, the water will change
Once it flows beyond
The protection of the Winds–
For better or worse.

But up in this neck of the woods,
All is well for a time.
And the water is clear
Thanks to Pingora, Gannett, and Fremont.
Dinwoody, Lizard Head,
Desolation, and The Sphinx.
Washakie Pass, Titcomb Basin,
Dickinson Park, and The Cirque of the Towers.
Popo Agie River, Deep Creek Lakes,
Mitchell Peak, and Wolf’s Head.
Stough Creek, Three Fork’s Park, Wind River Peak,
And so many more…

The world is a better place
Because of them.

Audio Version:

Lizard Head, Wind River Range

Seasons

Mountain biking through the Aspens

Journeys start, end,
And then,
A new one begins.

Each builds upon
The one that came before,
Like a snowball rolling down a hill.

Aspen trees
Bud-out in the spring.
Their first leaves
A luminescent green.

Then, summer rolls around
The same leaves mature,
Become darker,
And toughen.

In the Fall
They turn
Brilliantly golden,
Before falling off
And blowing away.

Finally, winter arrives
And cold and snow
Overwhelm
The bare limbs.

But then spring returns,
And it all begins
To happen again.

Life is a journey that keeps repeating.
Just like seasons moving through the trees.

Audio Version:

The Silver Trail
Copper Canyon, Mexico

Glaciers

The Kahiltna Glacier

Oozing forward.
Glaciers grow,
Or at least they used to.

Sometimes tumbling,
But mostly flowing,
And relentlessly scouring
The ground below.

Slow, deliberate,
Always persistent.
Marching to the sea.

Their rumbling movements ebb and flow.
Causing pressures to come and go.
Somewhere something has to give,
And so, they crack.

That’s what a crevasse is.

Some of those are open,
But many go unseen.
At times they seem like pits of peril,
Cold, and dark, and deep.

But in most cases,
They’re awe-inspiring, magical places
Filled with intricate light.

The bottom line is
If you’re in one looking ‘round
The kind of place you’ll see.
Depends upon just why you’re there
The reason is the key.

And the same can be said
For the whole of these magnificent rivers of ice.

On the one hand,
They’re intimidating, frozen, and indestructible.
But on the other,
They’re alluring, invigorating, and easily broken.

on the Glacier

Life’s Mysteries

Alpine View

Open the gate.
They await.

Unknown, unique;
Unanticipated,
Beyond imagination.

So simple,
So complex.

You might reach a summit
In the middle of a foggy night,
And stand on a rock looking out
At distant peaks
Poking out above the clouds,
And illuminated by a full moon.
It could happen.

Perhaps, you’ll walk for miles
Along a hot beach
To get to a place
Where you can see sharks
In a feeding frenzy,
And where Tapirs still
Roam around at night.
It could happen.

It’s possible that you’ll retreat
From a poorly conceived climb,
And walk-up on a naked beauty
In the middle of nowhere
Washing off under a waterfall.
It could happen.

It’s not out of the question,
That an unknown young Tarahumara man
Will walk into your camp
And invite you to a
Dutuburi.
It could happen.

Perhaps you will be lucky enough
To see elk calves
Sliding down a snowfield,
And being scolded by their elders
When they reach the bottom.
It could happen.

Maybe, an Andean wolf
Will appear
Out of the clouds,
On your way down
From a high-altitude hut,
Look you over,
And just disappear back into the clouds.
It could happen.

Sometimes:
Upper stories of hotels are uncompleted;
Moths fly into ears;
Anchors hold;
Treble hooks get lodged in eyelids;
Rattlesnakes don’t strike;
Storms end;
Trees go up in flames;
Boats show up with your gear;
The Corona truck falls off a cliff;
The fish are biting;
The trail just stops;
The Northern Lights appear where they’re not supposed to;
Handlebars break;
Your hair stands on end;
Shortnosed Spearfish take the hook;
The wind blows your raft upstream;
Climbing routes run out;

Don’t close the gate.
Just be ready for the unexpected,
Because mysteries happen.

Audio Version:

3 Climbers

Backcountry

Cirque of the Towers

In the backcountry, at last.
Far from the trailhead.

Where the clear sky is bluer
And the blue mind clearer.

Where everything is over yonder,
Except for the things close-by.

Where the bare ground
Is comfortable to sleep on.

Where the fish
Are as big as you want them to be.

Where trails
Go on forever.

Where the weather
Sets the agenda.

Where sardines, Spam, and Nutella
Taste good, all mixed together.

Where you can drink the water
Straight from the creek.

Where the wind
Both begins and ends.

Where rocks and plants
Are considered works of art.

Where shouting
Usually means someone needs help.

Where each minute
Has more than 60 seconds.

Where you have to rely
On the information in your head.

Where maps matter
And wild is a good thing.

Audio Version:

On the Rio Grande River

Alpine Summit

Summit of Huayna Potosi, Bolivia

Mountain summit
Rock and ice.
Peaks above
The clouds.

Alpine world
Of wind and cold.
But also warm
And calm.

Ascending always,
Mostly upward.
Climbing, slogging
Pushing, moving.

Ice axe, rope teams,
Crampons, prusik.
Crevasses, glaciers,
Headwalls, ridges.

Confidence and
Proud persistence
Get you to the top.
And once you’re there,
Just look around,
The vision will astound.

Audio Version:

On the Summit

The Trail

Backpacking

Like a ribbon,
That snakes from here,
To there.

Starting,
Then disappearing,
Into thin air.

The path,
The way,
The natural trail.
Where does it lead?

Dirt, sand, gravel, and rocks.
They’re all a combination
Of individual grains
That rest against each other
And connect the first one,
To the last.

It begins,
It ends,
With plenty in between.

Just because
The whole of it
Can’t be seen
All at once, together,
And from start
To finish;
Doesn’t mean
It isn’t going somewhere.

Audio Version:

A Long Bridge

Hiking in the Rain

Soaked and cold
Through and through.
Dirt’s turned to mud,
The rocks are slick.

No more sun,
But lots of fog,
Clouds, and a wind
That stings the skin.

Too cold to stop,
Too tired to walk.
And raingear gets you
Wet from sweat.

Inside your boots,
Feet are sloshing.
While in your mouth,
Teeth are rattling.

Saturated, frigid,
Miserable, and brutal.
Words of pain,
Share the air.

Bone-chilling
Comes to mind.
But you slog on anyway
Toward the darkening sky.

Because you know,
That just beyond
The ridge ahead,
Awaits a cabin
And warm bed.

Audio Version:

Rain Brewing