The kid walked up while I was down in the creek fiddling around with a big rock, to tell me he’d lost his last fly. I was the fishing guide and supposedly the person who’d take care of that sort of thing and thus, knew I needed to act quickly. Of course, the most obvious solution would’ve been for me just to give him one. Usually, that’d be a simple thing to do– but since, in this case, I didn’t have any, it wasn’t even an option.
A Way of Giving Thanks
Embrace the time and place,
That puts a smile upon your face.
Wallow in it,
Soak it up,
Savor the moment,
Pour it in your cup.
Plant the vision in your mind,
Tell the story to remind.
The memories don’t have to disappear,
Or become less clear.
For me, I still….
Feel the river jostling my canoe as I marvel at the sunrise over the Del Carmens.
Ponder the quiet of the Tarryall Mountains as I lean against a rock on the top of Bison.
Taste the Tuna Surprise we ate on Mount Borah.
Am amazed by the midnight sun as it finally begins to set over the Kahiltna Glacier.
Hear the Popo Agie River roaring while I search for a good place to camp.
Feel the flow of the Puke Loop when I finally point my bike downward.
Make the right combination of moves near the top of the Rock Staircase.
Turn my eyes away from the blowing wind and snow as I near the top of Huayna Potosi.
See the Milky Way come to life as I look up from my bivouac in the Winds.
Walk to the cadence of the Semana Santa drums in Copper Canyon.
Smell the campfire telling me how to get back.
Each instant a wonder,
A tale of its own.
Remember and treasure,
Help it be known.
Smack dab in the middle of the state,
And overlooking South Park.
Improbable and majestic granite towers,
Boulders of all sizes,
And Bristlecone Pines.
Rambling streams and beaver ponds.
Smoky Quartz and Topaz.
And a creek that disappears.
Tales of Utes,
The last wild buffalo,
Walt Whitman on a train,
And miners rich with gold.
Bison Peak, McCurdy Mountain,
McCurdy Tower, and McCurdy Park.
X Rock, the Sand Creek Buttress,
And Spruce Grove.
Humongous crystals, albino trout,
Ute Creek, and Bison Pass.
The Hourglass Burn, Lost Park Wilderness,
And the Old Miner’s Cabin.
A wild place with few people,
Plenty of mystery,
And a warm wind that whispers “Tarryall.”
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.
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.
Spectacular, and subtly bright.
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.
The Broken Handlebar
I was going downhill, and the trail flowed well. The section of the Colorado Trail we were mountain biking on drops slowly and steadily for miles as it winds its way down the Craig Creek drainage. It’s a fast, fun, and effortless ride that I’d done many times before. Sure, there are some obstacles along the way, such as unfortunately positioned rocks, encroaching Potentilla bushes, and washed-out ruts. But the only significantly tricky spots occur where small creeks, thick with willows, come in from the sides.
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