Note: I didn't get much writing done last week, because I was busy losing lures to 50 pound rockfish at the reservoir. 

Last Sunday, we got a reprieve from the heat of the dog days of summer. A pretty strong cold front barreled in from the north, bringing with it clouds and a strong, cool breeze. I took the long way to Ken Caryl Valley. By that, I mean I drove all the way north on Simms then veered onto Quincy to scope out Harriman Lake Park, hoping it wasn’t too busy so I could get some shots of the eagles and waterbirds that make that reservoir home. Unfortunately, I counted roughly ten people on the reservoir rocks by the road alone; ten too many people for me. 

So, I headed south on Kipling towards Deer Creek Canyon. Perhaps, the canyon would have less people. But, nope! Not only were there hoards of cyclists clogging up the road through the canyon, but both parking lots of South Valley Park were full, to the point people were parked (some illegally) along the side of the road. 

I began to get a little concerned. Sure, Ken Caryl Valley may be private, but even Ken Caryl can get a little busy at times, especially when the weather calls for it. Evidently, everyone and their mom figured Sunday’s weather was perfect to hike in (they weren’t wrong), so I expected the valley to be about as busy at it gets. That said, a busy day in the valley is still way quieter than a weekday afternoon on a popular public trail. 

However, as I drove around the valley in search of a good place to hike, I was pleasantly surprised by how quiet it was. While the neighborhood parks were fairly busy, everywhere else was almost desolate. In fact, when I arrived at the hogback trailhead, there were no other people or cars in sight. 

“Perfect…” I thought to myself as I rolled to a stop on the side of the road, (legally) parking directly in front of the horse crossing sign. 

It was cold enough for me to justify wearing my green windbreaker jacket, but I still carried a backpack full of water, ice packs, salty snacks, and soda just in case I got warm. I also carried my camera pack, a lens cleaner kit, a pocket knife, and bear spray. I didn’t plan on venturing too far from the Xterra, but I still wanted to be prepared. Y’know… just in case. 

I’ve rarely visited the valley since the bears began to make their annual appearances in June or July. That, and mountain cougars have been spotted on residents’ doorbell cameras, mainly in the dead of night. Even a bull moose made his appearance at a valley park on a weekend afternoon and crashed a birthday party (though, the bull moose was peaceful and just plodded past without a care in the world). 

However, since getting my bear spray, I was no longer so on-edge. In fact, for the first time in a very long time, I felt almost completely safe and secure. After all, I was alone, with no one in sight to bother me. 

Even on the quietest days at Harriman Lake Park or Clement Park, where I spent most of last week trying (and failing) to catch any edible fish, there were still lots of people and very few wild animals. Neither place was the peaceful getaway I’ve been desperately searching for since the semester ended.  

But, as usual, the valley was (and is), even though it lacks fishable waters. 

I hiked along the far right edge of the trail leading up to the hogback, purposefully brushing against the waist-high grass as I walked by it, so I could watch as dozens of grasshoppers bounded away from me with each step I took. White Prickly Poppies and yellow Coneflowers were swarmed by pollinators of all kinds, from huge bumblebees, to soldier beetles and weevils. The birdsong grew louder as I neared the crest of the hogback where the Gambel oaks were. But before I reached the trees, I veered off the trail to walk along a long sandstone plate, which radiated heat from the last several weeks of hot weather. There, I hoped to find a snake or two.

Cautiously, I prowled along the sandstone, careful not to startle any potential reptiles sunning themselves between crevasses within the stone. By the time I reached the other end of the sandstone, which dropped off into a sea of grass, I’d found no reptiles. But, right as I turned around to head back to the trail, I heard something huge moving towards me from within the thick Gambel Oaks. It wasn’t just wind, and it was way too big to be a bird or a squirrel, so I called out, “Hey!”, in hopes it would stop. But, it didn’t stop. It just kept getting closer, and it wasn’t answering to my calls. 

“I’ve got bear spray, and I won’t hesitate to use-”

El Jefe, Ken Caryl Valley’s biggest mule deer buck, suddenly popped his head out from the oaks and stared right at me, probably wondering where all the noises were coming from.  

“Oh, it’s just you.” I sighed as I went from reaching for my bear spray to reaching for my camera. 

As I got my camera ready, El Jefe slunk back into the trees, but not far enough to disappear. I watched as he tossed his head around to clear a bedding spot within the shelter of the trees. He didn’t care that I was twenty yards from him, taking pictures as he used his velvety antlers to break away leafy branches. Once he was satisfied with his work, I watched him fold his legs beneath himself and lay down. Clearly, he was used to me. 

I left the buck to nap and hiked up to the crest of the first hogback, where I gazed into the eastern valley below, where I didn’t see a soul. I found a chunk of sandstone to sit on so I could revel in the sound of nature’s ambience, and watch the wind wash through the grass like ocean waves.