Early one morning, I was once again in search of adventure. Racing down Simms, blasting Greg Graffin through the radio (specifically Graffin's song Echo on the Hill), I had my heart set on checking out Red Rocks amphitheater, after not visiting it for a couple years.

However, when I got near the world-famous rock formation, it seemed like basically everyone else within a fifty mile radius had the same idea as me. Not wanting to spend my precious “me” time surrounded by tourists and Denverites, I flipped a U-ie and exited Morrison through Willow Springs (a neighborhood that makes my Ken Caryl Ranch neighborhood look like the ghetto), assaulting the place with Dillon Ray's song Mossy Oak Memories.

A little disappointed but not yet willing to head home, I drove into Ken Caryl Valley on the hunt for a hike I hadn’t done before. After driving a couple careful laps around the main neighborhood, watching for deer and people as I roved past trailheads and parks I’d hiked a hundred times, I suddenly realized I hadn’t gone into North Ken Caryl Ranch very often except to visit one of my dad’s best friends for dinner. 

Instead of turning right at the light to leave the Valley and head back home by the Ranch House, I turned left, sped past the horse stables and a large herd of cyclists, and veered to the right to head into the Northern Ken Caryl Valley neighborhood (which is much more expensive than the southern valley houses, and even more expensive than the houses on the ranch, but still looks like a shanty-town compared to Willow Springs). Then, about twenty yards or so later, I pulled over and parked on the side of the road. 

For a brief moment, I paused to glass over my surroundings. Just to the west, the historic Manor House sat stoutly on the crest of a grassy knoll, with an American flag swaying gently in the breeze on its pole. Just to the east, a hogback ridge dating back to the Cretaceous period jutted up from the prairie towards the partly cloudy sky. It seemed to be calling me. Begging me even, to hike up and over it, so I could see the rest of the Valley and beyond from the highest precipice of the ridge. 

Cautiously, I peered into the rear-view mirror to make sure no cars were coming, then I swiftly exited the Xterra and jumped down into the ditch, narrowly avoiding landing on a small prickly pear cactus hidden among the stubble of last year’s prairie grass. From there, I sprang up onto the prairie and trotted through the knee-high grass till I reached the red-dirt path, still sort of wet from the snowmelt. An American Goldfinch perched atop a red Cedar sang to me as I plodded up the trail, soon followed by the cry of a Robin on another red Cedar. Grasshoppers and locusts chirped and buzzed around me. I about bolted into a deep mud puddle when a locust flew almost directly into my eyeball, nailing on my eyebrow instead. But, I managed to only claw the air like a bear at a beehive till I was sure nothing else was flying at me, instead of getting spooked into the mud. 

After that, I picked up the pace a bit until I reached higher, rockier ground where I was less likely to get attacked by another flying creature. Up there was a little more wind, keeping the air around me cool and fresh. The sweet scents of ponderosa pine and young prairie grass mixed in with the wet, musty smell of mud and decaying leaves wafted up into my nostrils. I felt a little tinge of anxiety when I picked up on the wetter smells, but I reminded myself that I wasn’t likely to get sick from it anymore and tried to focus on something else. Like the pretty and interesting rocks scattered all around me on the trail. I knew there were likely some fossils in that soil, for I was now hiking among rocks rich with them. And, sure enough, I did find what appeared to be either a small geode or a chunk of coprolite (AKA dinosaur shit), among tons and tons of red, white, orange, and yellow sandstone. I managed just enough self control to not fill my pocket up entirely with sandstone, taking only a few small pieces, the coprolite, and a cute little ponderosa pinecone I found in near-perfect condition. 

Just as I was rising to my full height after collecting the pinecone, something very fast swept by my face, brushing just a bit against my cheek. I started and kind of yelped, my heart rate and blood pressure skyrocketing as I searched for whatever that was. Fluttering up to a gamble oak branch was a little Spotted Towhee. I calmed down believing I’d discovered what had practically dive-bombed me moments earlier, and quietly watched the little dude as he sang his little heart out. He leapt from branch to branch, getting closer and closer to me, all while he sang loud and proud. 

I must’ve spent close to ten minutes with the bird, just enjoying his music and company. At one point, the bird and I were within arm’s distance of each other. He didn’t seem to mind me, but I stayed still as a boulder, not wanting to scare him off. But, the wind had other plans, scaring the little Towhee away by flicking my hair towards him. He flew off to a distant gamble oak branch, sang one more time, then dove out of sight down the eastern face of the ridge, landing on a yucca stalk deep in the valley below. 

I just stood where I was, an ear-to-ear grin stretched across my face, absolutely enchanted by my little encounter with another one of God’s wild creatures.