Spring in Mo-town

Montrose, Colorado quickly won our hearts.  It's small and walkable, the people are invariably friendly, and it's so close to a huge variety of outdoor playgrounds... the Rockies, Grand Mesa, and the canyons of Grand Junction and Moab.  It's also the kind of place, still rural, that you'll see horses tied up outside a church or the Taco Bell.  With the rising temperatures, we've traded in our skis for mountain bikes.  Danielle is getting pretty serious, taking women's trail and downhill clinics.  Whenever we're not pedaling, you'll find us spending our evenings at Black Canyon National Park, hiking, bouldering, or watching the light turn the stupendous canyon walls amber and orange with the approaching sunset.

It has been a privilege, a once-in-a-lifetime gift, to spend so much time with my Mom's sister, Aunt Irene.  She has graciously educated me on my family tree, advised me in repairing old family scrapbooks, and steered me towards important places in our history.  This included a trip out to the eastern Plains -- nearly Kansas -- to visit the site of my Great-grandfather's failed homestead, and we will soon be taking a trip up to the remote gilsonite mines where my grandparents worked, met and married.  This homecoming has reconnected me to my people here, and the generations before us who tread the same piece of earth.

As spring arrives, the wish-list on our fridge -- places to explore -- grows longer.

 Scrambling in the multi-hued canyons of Gunnison National Recreation Area.

A walk and picnic in the family apple orchards (Rogers Mesa, CO).

With Irene, checking out the restoration of rail cars 

my grandparents rode to the Baxter Pass mines. 

The very site... my grandmother's home on the plains (Eads, CO).  

Though my Great-grandfather's dream was cut short when all the cattle froze, 

I'm grateful the family migrated to milder pastures on the western side of the state.  

 Nearby, a more recent family tragedy.  They simply walked away, 

leaving the ranch to the tumbleweeds.   

Odd and terrifying encounters in the eastern grasslands: 

the longest series of dinosaur tracks in the world, 

and a close call with a cryptic rattle snake.  

Mountain biking: first the canyons of Montrose, Fruita and Moab, 

and now that the snows are receding, the high meadows and aspen woods 

of the Uncompahgre Plateau and the Rockies.  

Danielle's father, JD, joined us from California for some great pedaling.  

Our favorite:  the majesty of the Black Canyon.

High Country Winter

With the exception of a few faint, childhood memories of ice skating and sledding in Grand Junction, most of my regular visits to Colorado came in the summer.  So it was such a treat to experience winter here.   Danielle, Koa and I could be found, most weekends well into April, nordic skiing over the trails on Grand Mesa or making our way up old roads in the San Juan Range. The qualities of the snow -- light, dry, reflective and dazzling in the alpine sun -- were pure pleasure and unlike anything we'd experienced before.   

Cruising on Grand Mesa, Colorado

Making tracks in the San Juans, Colorado

I headed back into Utah to meet up with our Vegas clan at Brian Head resort -- very near to Cedar Breaks National Monument and nearly 11,000' in elevation.  My sister, Betty, and assorted cousins and their kids had a fantastic time. Somehow, in one long weekend, I managed to sled, ski, hike and snow-camp, and -- for the novelty -- snowmobile.   A thoroughly fun visit, all around.  

 A rare event: snow-camping in Red Canyon, Utah

All kinds of fun at Brian Head, Utah

Grand Staircase - Southeast Utah

My cousin Paula's husband, Tim Casey, is a university professor and social scientist.  I had the unique opportunity of accompanying him 'the field' while he collaborated with the Bureau of Land Management at the Grand Staircase - Escalante National Monument.  I learned a lot about desert land management as we tagged along with BLM staff, and gained insight into the communities of southeastern Utah at public meetings aimed at surveying what resources people utilize and consider most special on the monument.  Here are a few photos from our 5-day road trip.

 

A picture of a picture, as this is a hard shot to get: 

Grand Staircase (brown, vermillion, white, grey and pink cliffs).  

Slot canyons and arches in the Grand Staircase area.

Colorful Juniper wood and unique sandstone pinnacles in Red Canyon, Dixie National Forest.

 A view of the San Rafael Swell.

San Luis Valley, Colorado

Our experiences in Colorado have been rich thus far.  Quality time with family, and outdoor adventures in the mountains.  I will write more about our home in Montrose soon, but wanted to first share some photos from one particularly magical weekend. 

Danielle had a long weekend, a rare treat, so we decided to get a bit further afield.  We spent the weekend in a little cottage several miles up a dirt road outside of Del Norte, on the edge of national forest land.  The quiet, and the spectacular night sky, were worth the drive.  For the first time I began to pick out constellations: the Gemini twins, Ursa Major, Covus. 

The San Luis Valley proved interesting in other ways too, particularly its colonial Spanish heritage and its dramatic natural splendor.  We took walks along an ancient volcanic caldera and its maze-like boulder fields.  And then we went to the Monte Verde National Wildlife Refuge to see the migrating Sand Hill cranes.  This being a critical staging and 'refueling' area, the sky was full of tens of thousands of these graceful birds.  Parachuting out of the sky with long legs extended, and barely a flap of their wings, they descended to feed on the rye and barley fields.  At dusk they could be seen commuting, single-file in lines approaching 5 miles in length, to their nightly shallow water roosts.  Their calls filled the air, enchanting and wooden sounding, like a cross between a croak and a purr.

After an overnight storm, we crossed the valley to play at Great Sand Dunes National Park.  Last I passed through here, twelve years ago on the way to Louisiana, the August temperature was boiling hot.  Danielle and I were new to each other, our future together uncertain.  What a story has unfolded since then!  And what different conditions on my return.  Snow blanketed the steep slopes, smoothing and muting the already supple lines of the dune field.  It was a visual feast.  We cross-country skied around the perimeter, between the dunes and the adjacent Sangre de Christo mountains that trap the airborne particles.  Later we clambered up and up and up, laughing hysterically as we raced Koa back down.

On the way home we soaked at a hot springs high up a mountain slope, gazing in satisfaction at the valley below.  The driving itself was rewarding, as we saw saw grey fox, herds of pronghorn antelope, hawks and eagles.  We spent those days in awe of our planet, its fecundity and diversity of life.  
 

The Great American Road Trip

And now, a brief sketch of our trip across the American West.  Just when we had given up hope of Danielle landing a contract near my extended family in Colorado, she got the call.  So after a fun visit with our friends in Astoria, and a week's break at home in Truckee with J.D., we hit the road heading due east.  Nevada's Highway 50 is "America's Loneliest Road": part backwards public relations pitch, and part badge of honor for the residents of its depopulated boom-and-bust mining towns.

I drove this with friends in college, racing towards Utah's Lake Powell on a spring break adventure with three kayaks strapped to the top of our truck.  The ferocious head-wind slowed us to a crawl and the incessant basin and range geography... desert plain, mountain pass, desert plain, mountain pass, desert plain, mountain pass... drove us mad.  This time, I did it right.  We took our time, checking out the petroglyphs (some dating back 7,000 years); the steep-sloped whistling sand dunes; the ruins of pony express and stage coach stations, and so many abandoned mines and the charcoal ovens making fuel for the old smelters; remote and soothing hot springs; and, briefly, the ecologically unique and wonderful Great Basin National Park. 

 Eventually, we crossed into southern Utah and the infinite possibilities of the Colorado plateau canyon country.  Even in Utah, conservative as it is, there are pockets of progressive and outlandish people -- internal refugees, in a way.  Case in point, we stayed a night at Mystic Hot Springs, the last stop for several Deadheads and their buses when Jerry died.  We, in fact, stayed in one of their old, now stationary, vehicles.  It was remodeled and rechristened, "Ripple".  The experience was both hilarious and very, very cold.  

We took a scenic route through Utah.  Our passage took us through Capitol Reef National Park and Goblin Valley State Park (pictured above).  Koa and I had a blast climbing and clambering up, and sliding down, the thousands of hoodoos and ancient, cemented dunes.  The melting snow gave the orange dirt the feel of kneaded bread dough, with a sprinkling of salt on top like flour.  Every step and jump a soft landing.


Now we are making a home, for the next few months anyway, in Montrose, Colorado.  A town of 18,000 people in southwestern Colorado, on the western slope of the Rockies.  We've already had a fantastic weekend with my aunt and cousins.  Our "welcome to Colorado!" moment, when this new life began to sink in, was cross-country skiing along the rim of nearby Black Canyon National Park.  Peering into its nearly fathomless depths and listening to the quiet -- with raven, mule deer and bobcat sightings along the way -- we new we had finally arrived.