Fourth of July Road Trip!

For this year's annual Fourth of July camping trip, we intended to get away from the heavy Colorado fire danger by heading up to Medicine Bow (in Wyoming) via Steamboat Springs. A burgeoning tradition within our annual pilgrimage is that of the rodeo; since the rodeos apparently don't happen in southern Wyoming until later in the summer, we made a point to see the famous Cowboy Roundup Days at Brent Romick Arena in Steamboat. 

We were PUMPED for some rodeo action. Get-r-done!

We set up camp and moseyed on down to the arena, where we quickly learned tat the folks in the know were the folks who got there a little bit early and sat under the sheltered side of the stadium. We enjoyed a complimentary shower - compliments of mother nature - and cozied up under the rain poncho. Gigi made friends with the single most adorable child that ever lived, and we were a happy little bunch under a cool summer sky.

Since I attended the Pikes Peak or Bust Rodeo as a kid, I've only been to July 4th rodeo festivities, so I'm not sure if the palpitating patriotism is a usual occurrence at these events or not. It is nonetheless entertaining to listen to Toby Keith albums and Proud to be an American on a continuous loop for hours on end, while your contemporaries chasse up and down the aisle in their best rattlesnake-skin boots with rhinestone Jesuses and crosses emblazoned upon all visible layers of clothing, cursing up a storm and a dip or two of cheap chewing tobacco in. Its much like being in a western movie - but exchange the 6-shooters for baby strollers.


Rodeo is perplexing for me because it is the only sport where I root against the athletes.... I can preemptively sense the reader judging me for this but let me ask you a question: when you see the cows win isn't it just a little bit satisfying? Isn't there the smallest voice in the back of your head that roots for the underdog, yelling "you go, my little cow friend!" I rest my case - you would have to be a seriously cold-hearted son of a gun to think the steers actually like to get wrastled to the ground by their horns, or that its really impressive for a thirty year old man on trained horseback to chase down and tackle a four month old calf. 


All soapboxes aside, this was both good, old-fashioned Dionysian and Apollonian fun. Suspense, drama, gossip and philosophical fodder were available in abundance and I look forward to going again.

This event was called "Milking a wild cow." I wonder what the cow's thoughts were?

We had a sweet campsite in the Routt National Forest on the way to Buffalo Pass (Elev. 10,804').

Gigi's tasteful photography of our home for the night.

There was a sweet view of the Yampa valley below. A friend of ours trusted me with an early transcript of the first chapters of his upcoming book, and while Gigi slept in I had the privledge of watching the valley mists burn off with the morning sun .

The washed-out top of the photo is a fog bank rolling north (away from Steamboat Springs proper)

Looking south towards town. This was a beautiful place.

Later. The sun is starting to come out and the mists are rising towards the celestial roof above.

Day two was spent at the Steamboat Municipal pool and athletic center. There are spring-fed pools and hot tubs, a diving board, water slides and a CLIMBING WALL. There are water falls cascading down the face, and any spills send you right back into the water that you came from. I realize that I'm a legal adult but I proudly battled the local children for my turn to attempt to climb this behemoth. Last year, I spent three unsuccessful hours trying to climb the wall. Armed with the shame that comes from being one-upped by countless six year olds and the studious determination garnered from five years of undergraduate study, I knew I would emerge victorious in round two. After a full day's contemplation, we waded by the wall as a drizzle fell on the surface of the water. I knew that it was only a matter of time until the lifeguards kicked us out - it was go time and I had one shot to vindicate myself! The noise of the outside world ceasing, I gathered myself and approached the wall with marked resiliency. And then, the magic happened. I finally reached the top of the wall at 9:15 PM. It was a landmark event in my life... I love this pool.

This photo is from the pool's website. Look at how epic this kid is right now! If I ever own a pool I will have three of these walls.

The day was so much fun that the local fauna wanted to join us for dinner. We saw this little guy investigation our stove situation back on the pass. It was a little strange to see a salamander because I was unaware that we were near any water, but he cruised around our feet for about a half hour while we ate. 

Gigi thought he was cute until she learned that they can be poisonous.... Then we sanitized everything he touched :-)

As we packed up camp, we considered our options - Dinosaur National Monument and Medicine Bow/Laramie looked about equidistant on the map, and we really like dinosaurs. So we changed plans and headed west. Good choice.

The park straddles to Colorado-Utah border. The quarry is entered on the Utah side, and the camping and scenic drives are accessed from the Colorado side.

Here the awesome tram that takes you to the quarry.

The quarry is literally a wall of bones that have been partially dug out so as to be made visible. From the viewing gallery upstairs, you can see bones ranging from 5cm to >1m. Most of the bones found at the quarry are from Sauropods (long-necked vegetarians, think brachiosaurus or apatosaurus (formerly brontosaurus)). They've also found stegosauri and allosauri, but in lower abundance at this site. From the viewing gallery, you can access a lower level of the quarry where visitors can get up close and personal with the wall, and actually touch some of the fossils.

This is a massive scapula (shoulder blade) from a sauropod. Had I come here as a child, I probably would have peed my pants with excitement at the opportunity to touch these fossils. Twenty years later, the excitement is just as much but I've (thankfully, for everyone's sake) mastered control of my bodily functions in such situations.

Gigi (who is an awesome scientist) correctly identified this femur. She was also pretty darn excited - look at those eyes!

Happy and nerding-out at the dino wall.

Across the floor from the fossil wall is a series of interactive exhibits and a complete skeleton of an allosaurus. It was both huge and completely awesome.

Take a moment and appreciate the fine artwork in the background. I look at those hands and imagine him/her growling in a thick east-coast accent, "I'ma gonna pick off the weak, old and/or sick animals and do my part for the evolution of prey animals in my local ecosystem. Then, I'ma gonna grab some stuff and kapow! Keyaa! Hiya! Mmmmrrraawwwgggrrr! Kacha! Its good to be the top predator." 

Us doing our best impression of the allosaurus.

Awww.... she's so cute.

Fun fact, stegosaurus is the state dinosaur of Colorado - neato. In the very last exhibit before you leave the building, visitors are sent off with a parting image of the cutest baby stegosaurus fossil ever. The artist who painted the mural at the quarry was clearly from Utah and not Colorado, because of what we found tucked around the corner. 

We were impressed by the seeming olive branch of peace extended us by our westerly neighbors, until we again examined the artwork that accompanied the exhibit. Needless to say, we were horrified.

Seriously! Kids visit here, too. Its like when Fox News accused the Muppets of being a poorly-masked ploy to brainwash children into being communists, except this time it is the unknown artist desensitizing children to violence towards stegosauri, and by implication, the great state of Colorado! This is outrageous!

We made sure to pay our respects to the unsuspecting stegosaurus at the entrance to the visitor center on our way out. The poor guy has no idea where his kid ended up... we didn't have the heart to tell him. 

Homage, indeed, my friend - I shall forever pledge my allegiance to the great patriots and representatives of our fine state: the stegosauri. May their legacy live in infamy.

Back on the Colorado side of the monument, we came upon a fine campground in a place known as Echo Park, resting just downriver from the confluences of the Yampa and Green rivers.

The view from our camp. Steamboat Rock is illuminated in the middle ground. 

Gigi simultaneously drinking away her sorrows from the plight of the stegosauri and celebrating the awesomeness of the rest of the quarry.

Off of a tip from the local park ranger, we decided to go for a hike Saturday morning along a footpath towards a sandy beach known as Mitten Park. In order to get there, we would need to hike along the base of the cliffs from our campsite.

From the start of the trail.

Gigi presenting the initial terrain covered by the trail. From this point on, most of the hiking runs along the sandstone base of the cliffs.

Gigi posing with the beautiful Green River behind her.

Across the river from the trail was Steamboat Rock.

A better look at the sandstone path and the steamboat-esque summit of Steamboat Rock.

Alas, the heat had become an issue prior to us reaching the crux of the route. Although we brought a fair amount of water, I had forgotten to pack the water purifier and we would likely not have had enough refreshments to last us for the whole hike and hanging out at the park. We elected to turn around and wade into the river closer to our drinking water.

Gigi is an awesome partner. I am almost as excited to be dating her as I am that we got to hang out at the dino quarry yesterday. 

Apparently Echo Park is also a popular lunch site for river runners. We waded in at the take out.

Its more of a rafting dock. There were three whitewater rafts just to the right of us as we took this. You can kind of see the sandbar under the surface of the water.

Looking up at the confluence of the Yampa and Green Rivers.

Temperatures were approaching 100 degrees Fahrenheit, so the only logical thing to do was to bask in the river oasis.

Great scenery.

A fine ending to a great hike. 

We packed up our things and ended our trip in Palisade and Grand Junction. Intending to visit the local vineyards, we learned that wine tastings don't happen after 5:00 PM. Alas, we will have to return later in the summer to hike the fruit and wine trail. 

Climbing, Camping and Reading: The Finer Things in Life

Since this is supposed to be a journal of my outdoor exploits, I suppose I should record the latest and greatest adventures. I started working at EXPAND since going up Mt. Evans in June. This, combined with the recent Waldo Canyon fire, has unfortunately detracted from my happy-being-outside-time. Granted, I do get paid to ride the water slides at Boulder's many pools with fourth-graders, its not quite the philosophical mindspring that I usually dedicate my summers to indulge from. A couple of afternoon climbing sessions and a single night camping at Left Hand Reservoir have been my only outings.

Part I: The highlights

Climbing with Nathaniel at North Table Mountain
- Bro-ing out in the sunshine
- First-ever lead climb. We took turns reaching various bolts along the way, and may or may not have zigzagged up three adjacent routes to reach our anchor, but we did it. Moral of that story is that lead climbing is intensely terrifying. It is a terror that I've come to more or less expect while climbing class V pitches but for some reason simply cannot get used to. I am consistently caught by surprise with how out of control I feel while hanging thirty feet above terra firma. The omnipresent voice that whispers soothingly, "I can't do it," is only matched by the rush and sense of self-reliance (not to mention a huge amount of trust in the belayer... its a great incentive to keep dinner conversations cordial when entertaining in-laws. I'd hate to be perilously hanging atop a crag only to hear a mischievous voice call up, "So tell me again exactly how badly my climbing shoes smell?" For the record, and any future reference, they smell of spring lilies and butterflies frolicking hand-in-hand in abundant sunshine) that prevails once the objective is achieved.
- Note to self - multiple Del Taco gut bombs prior to climbing should henceforth be considered a poor choice and avoided whenever possible.

Camping at LHR and bouldering at Mt. Sanitas with Gigi, David and Tiffany
- New sleeping bag, fresh from the REI garage sale (60% off) fits me perfectly and is much like laying in a cloud of coziness.
- This was the first time that my lovely hammock has come camping. Hammock overlooking the reservoir + badass sleeping bag + starlit sky = an orgy of good outdoorsy vibrations.
- Speaking of hammocks and outdoorsy vibrations, I had the opportunity to spend an hour or so with Gigi reclining in our hammocks near the entrance to the access road while we waited for our companions to join us. In my opinion, some of the most attractive traits that another human being can possess are the ability to sit calmly and contentedly among trees, literacy (bonus points for utilizing this skill for leisure, and further bonus points for not reading intellectual black hole material like dieting books, Sean Hannity/Bill O'Reily, or this blog), and if they are not someone who also enjoys hiking/biking/skiing/running/jumping/climbing trees, then someone who understands and accepts the impulse for another human being do so. I feel privileged and elated that my partner is a sexy beast that possesses all of those qualities and more.
- Bouldering was hot! Tiffid was good company for the excursion, however, and we celebrated a successful afternoon's adventure by taking a swim. I love fantastic afternoons spent with fantastic people.

The author and Gigi, enjoying a game of rummy. 

Dave enjoying some hammock love.

Awesome campsite.

Part II: Meditations

The Deck
I had the privilege to sit on my deck and smoke a cigar the afternoon after bouldering with Tiffid. Anyone who has ever candidly philosophized with me at any length has heard of the fabled deck at my parents' home. Although I've recently identified as a non-theist in many respects, there are certain locales that I hold in the esteem of Holy Places. Things so-called "decks" live in my mind among the fine company that comprises the centerpiece of the Holy Table at which my soul dines. As I sat in the comfortable shade of the deck at my current residence, my mind took a walk among the pines and my sense of Self washed over my thoughts.
Summer is the time in which I recharge; there is room to think and grow, to try new things and to lay things to rest. During the school year there is time only for academia but in the summer there is time to pause. I realized (only last weekend?!) that I hadn't yet returned to this annual pilgrimage. Sitting on my deck in the evening shade - after a weekend of camping and climbing - I sat alone with myself in the knowledge that I am Home. It is a beautiful thing, and a gift that I only know how to give or receive when in proximity to the calm that is life out of doors. Summer has begun.


On The Loose
Since reading M. John Fayhee's Bottoms Up early this spring, I've wanted to track down a copy of and read On The Loose by Terry and Renny Russel. It is a book that chronicles the two brothers' collected philosophies and photographs of their travels into the backcountry leading up to 1966. I found it devoid of the angst-riddled prose that I would have expected to come from brothers 19- and 21-years old at the time of writing. All I ever wrote about at their age was how angsty my angst was; these were pages compiled by persons of intensely considerable humanity. When I read On The Loose, it jived with my youthful impulse to go run/climb/hike/bike/experience every mountain and valley that ever existed. I haven't been out as much as I would have liked to recently, but its all good because I know that adventure is out there waiting to be found.
In reflection of their time spent together and out in the wilderness, I am left with this quote from page 83:

"Well,
Have we guys learned our lesson?
You bet we have.
Have we learned to eschew irresponsible outdoorsmanship, to ask advice, to take care and plan      fastidiously and to stay on the trail and to camp only in designated campgrounds and to inquire locally and take enough clothes and keep off the grass?
You bet we haven't.
Unfastidious outdoorsmanship is the best kind.

Adventure is not in the guidebook and Beauty is not on the map.

Seek and ye shall find."

The Long Way to Mt. Evans

I returned to the Mount Evans Wilderness area this morning via Guanella Pass. I had been to the area three times last year (once in calendar winter) with intentions of hiking Mt. Bierstadt, the Sawtooth and Mt. Evans in tandem. However, all three of these trips ended with singular summits of Mt. Bierstadt.

While planning for this hike during a cribbage marathon with Gigi last night, I made plans to hike the trio in reverse - I would brave the infamous willows first thing in the morning on the way to Mt. Evans, and then traverse the Sawtooth on my way to Mt. Bierstadt and head back to the car along the well-maintained Bierstadt trail. I had reservations about the itinerary for two reasons: this would be my first solo ascent of a 14er, and I did not want to wade knee-deep in wetland for the two-mile approach to the Evans-Spaulding Gully. Especially the latter of the two.

I consider myself a scientist, but sometimes my powers of observation are totally unaccounted for. This morning marks the second time in the last few months that I've walked within twenty feet of a moose and had no idea. (Curiously enough, both encounters happened within twenty feet of each other on the Bierstadt Trail...)

This big guy sent his casual salutations at the top of the morning. He was just as adorable as he was massive. 

Jim Davies, on 14ers.com, provided an excellent verbal map for me to circumnavigate the willows and the class 3 gully.


"Take the Bierstadt trail to just past the big lake (before the creek crossing), turn left and climb over the little hill, continue north through a potentially soggy low section, go over another hill, turn left (back toward the pass) to circle 100 feet or so back around the end of another soggy section, and you'll find the beginning of a dry trail that will lead you up to the Grey Wolf/Spaulding drainage (not the gully)."

After snapping photos of the moose, I made it my business to put as much public land between us posthaste. Over the hill and around the bend brought me to what appeared to be a game trail that had been visited by few hominid footsteps. This was the only opening in the neighborhood, so I went with what I had. If I got wet, then I really wouldn't have lost anything in trying because the other way is much like a 1970's era San Francisco mud bath filled with alpine water-born parasites. 

The trail. The dip on the horizon is the aforementioned drainage. Although taken from different locations, the mountain ridge on the right side of this photo is directly next to the ridge on the left side of the following photo. 

 Unbeknownst to me at the time, but knownst to me now, this seemingly ideal route up to the alpine ridge ends abruptly in a dramatic collection of huge (read: 300ish feet) cliffs at approximately the end of our field of vision in the previous photo. What's more is that Mt. Spaulding (13, 842' - the peak directly to the right of the drainage) backs up its massive toosh right to the edge of said cliffs. The only way to get from drainage to the other side of Spaulding is, as I learned, to summit Mt. Spaulding on the way! I acknowledge that I would have saved a whole heck of a lot of drama if I had looked at a map before I tried to take a new route in unknown territory, but I'm young and I enjoy surprises most of the time.

I will now direct the reader's attention to the fact that Mount Evans lives approximately two miles south and east of The Sawtooth. My attempted shortcut to go around the Evans gully and Mt. Spaulding turned into a three hour, three mile detour wherein I had to summit Mt. Spaulding in the process.

The Sawtooth (13,600') and Mt. Bierstadt (14,060'). Can you guess which one is which?

This is a picture of a mountain (on the left) that I don't know its name but want to snowboard down the left ridge into the center bowl. Every time I come to this wilderness area I spend some amount of time picking out the beastliest line.

A pond in the middle of the willows visible from my first breakfast break. There is water literally everywhere down there.

More water and looking up the main slope of Mt. Bierstadt.

Dry boots! On this point, my guide spoke truth.

 Leaving the spot of breakfast, all cairn specimen ceased to appear. I was led to believe that I should just continue along my merry way between Grey Wolf Peak and Mt. Spaulding. The drainage had some tasteful waterfalls all along the way up. I did not photograph them. You should visit and check it out.

I would now like to add another piece to this pie of torment - the wind. The weather report called for maximum gusts of 25mph, but this was a false statement. It was as though mother nature had had a rough night of binge drinking and poor fraternization choices and was pissed off at whatever weather person claimed to "understand her". At any point above 13,000', the wind held at (my not exaggerating estimate) a cozy 60mph with gusts of I-don't-even-know-how-high. What I do know is that I was rapidly approaching a bank of where-the-sidewalk-ends-type cliffs with unreasonable and unpredictable winds.

These are the little ones. Photo taken from half a mile away.

I later learned that these are called the Chicago Lakes.

 Here's where I had second breakfast and reevaluated my life choices.

Note the slope and presence of ice and snow.

 My only option was to throw caution to the wind and go straight up the side of Mt. Spaulding. It was so blustery that, even while hunkered down in a shelter, I couldn't get my phone to take a picture of the top. There were lots of big-sized rocks surrounded by grassy soil.

I felt that maybe I should just call it a day, since this one wasn't panning out the way I had hoped. On my way down the front side of the mountain, mother nature threw me a curve ball and there was a relative calm over the area. I thought, "surely this nonsense has passed and I can enjoy the rest of my day in the high country sans physical harassment from the air." I was mistaken, but did not find out just how poorly I had chosen until I was halfway along the ridge towards Mt. Evans.

Until today, I had never had a fall on a mountain. Today, I had three. Until today, I had never thought "I'm going to summit and get the eff off this mountain" and then grumpily go about it. Today, I did this. Until today, I had never felt physically sick with emotion and exhaustion while climbing a mountain. Today, I wanted to throw up all over Mt. Evans' face. I was not a happy hiker.

I gained the summit, avoided eye contact with the tourists who drove to the top, ate a cracker and was gone. The wind was so bad that I felt disoriented at times, as though I was being hit in the head repeatedly. The two mile slog back down the spine of the ridge was like walking an inebriated straight line down a talus-filled sidewalk. The Sawtooth and Mt. Bierstadt would have to wait, because I was not going to deal with this wind any more.

Summit view. Note the size of the cliffs over the Chicago Lakes!

The destroyed DU observatory seen from my hiding place in the rocks.

Summit view looking south. The southern Sawatch peaks can just be glimpsed on the right. I was just pointing my camera as I walked at this point.

Summit marker (14,264')

A really bad photo that is included to give a better perspective of the observatory's roof. (ripped open/off)

I left as quietly and sickly as I came and marched the six miles back to my car along the front side of Mt. Spaulding as fast as my legs and pounding head would take me.*

* I would like to note that, while my verbiage is somewhat bitter this evening, it was a beautiful day to be alive and in the mountains. It totally beats sitting at a desk job all day.