Spring has officially been in the air for the last couple of weeks!
I noticed the first Spring Beauties blooming from patches of lush moss and sprouting prairie grass on my usual hike through Ken Caryl Valley last week. I, of course, equipped my camera with a macro-lens and lied in a prone position in the red dirt, to get up-close photos of the tiny springtime flowers.
As I was taking pictures of flowers, a mud-brown grasshopper landed a couple inches from the flowers and stayed put, as though he was posing for me. So I carefully shifted my camera his way and also got some up-close pictures of the grasshopper. So up-close, in fact, that I could count the individual setae on his face (which are very small hairs found on all insects, which they use to sense the world around them).
Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to stick around as much as I wanted to. It was Colorado’s first 70-degree-day, with a warm sun and clear skies. But, I had to return home before lunch to torture myself with precalculus. Oh well… after that Easter Sunday morning’s hike, I felt refreshed, energetic, and ready to take that precalculus bull by the horns!
That night, a cold front blew in. By Tuesday, the weather had gone from sunny and warm to cold and blustery, which was typical Colorado weather for the time of year. Thankfully, not much snow fell, but it was enough to blanket the grass and trees in a couple inches of light, fluffy snow.
Since I didn’t have class that day, I decided to spend my “class time” outdoors, taking pictures in the Valley as usual. But, the lighting was harsh due to how the sun reflected the morning sun’s light. Even with sunglasses and my hat’s bill pulled down, I struggled to see without squinting my eyes. Seeing my camera’s screen was damn near impossible. Still, I took pictures of the snowy, sandstone hogback to my east. Not very good ones, but they turned out okay for the conditions.
Aside from some faraway starlings and blue jays, there wasn’t much wildlife to be seen. All of the Valley mule deer were congregated in people’s yards, and while I did find fresh bobcat tracks in the snow, I didn’t dare follow them across the creek. Instead, I equipped my camera with the macro-lens yet again and took pictures of fresh, green watercress growing just beneath the clear water’s surface.
As I was taking pictures of the bright green underwater leaves, I began to hear a distant, growing droning noise. I looked up just in time to see a well-known Cessna plane flying overhead; the plane that belongs to an amateur pilot who lives at the end of North Ranch Road. Every other day, the guy’s circling the valley in his plane, taking ariel photos for the Ken Caryl neighborhood newspaper.
At first, I found him annoying, but my ears eventually stopped listening for the plane. Instead, I was distracted by the strange sounds of an invasive European Starling in a cottonwood by the creek. Evidently, the bird had figured out how to mimic the sound of a chainsaw.
By that afternoon, the snow had been completely eaten up by the soil, which was when I figured I had enough sunlight to go on one final hike. The weather was perfect: cool, bright, and calm. Unfortunately, a big storm was in the forecast, so I wanted to spend as much time outside as I could before hunkering down.
For that evening’s hike, I chose to hike up to the crest of the hogback, where I hoped to come across some birds and see the Denver skyline between the two larger eastern hogbacks ahead. As I was following the dried, red trail up to the hogback, I noticed two horses and their riders coming my way. One horse was a chestnut, the other a bay with a white stripe down its face.
I moved off the trail a bit to let the horses pass by, especially because the chestnut was staring at my camera with a wild look in its eyes. Something about my camera made that young chestnut nervous (perhaps, the camera lens looked like a giant eye to the horse). I held the camera at my side while the horses passed, putting both them and their riders at ease (as well as myself, since I didn’t want to get trampled).
At the crest of the hogback, I stopped to take in the scenery. The cries of nearby magpies from the gamble oaks, coupled with the long shadows being cast and a stiff breeze hissing through last year’s dried grass were mesmerizing. When looking along the hogback ridge to my north, I could see Red Rocks Amphitheater in the distance. At some point in history, Red Rocks was considered one of the Seven Wonders of the World. The Ute consider Red Rocks (and many other red rock formations along the Front Range) to be a sacred place. But, that evening, it appeared that they were gearing up for yet another shitty concert, because I could see cars packing the parking lots and reflecting the sun back into my eyes.
I turned my attention back to the hogback, where I estimated I had about an hour of sunlight left before it became completely dark. I wasn’t about to end up alone in the dark with the mountain lions and the bobcats, so I quickly began to descend down the northern edge of the hogback to see the Denver skyline between the final wall of hogbacks directly across from me. But, as I headed deeper onto the shadows of the barren Gambel oaks, the red and white sand below my feet turned to a slick mud, forcing me to turn around.
Oh well… it was getting cold anyway.
The next day, immediately after class, I decided to check out Roxborough State Park for the first time, hoping that because it was a Thursday just after noon, it wouldn’t be too busy. Much like Red Rocks, Roxborough’s a famous State Park meant to preserve even more red rock formations riding up from the bedrock between the hogbacks and the foothills. I was a little disheartened by the line of vehicles parked at the gate to the state park. As I drove by, I noticed all but one of the vehicles had out-of-state plates. “Damn tourists…” I grumbled to myself as I passed by, fully aware of the fact that I, too, qualified as a tourist. But, unlike those people, I already had a state park pass along with my up-to-date Colorado plates.
However, like all of those non-Coloradans, I had no idea where I was going. I'd never been to Roxborough State Park before. I hoped it would be as spectacular and immersive as Ken Caryl Valley despite its fame, especially on a weekday afternoon. But, when I finally followed the road into the valley where the red rock formations jutted out from the soil, I was disappointed to see that nearly every parking space in all three lots were taken. And brightly-colored clothes from faraway hikers could be seen everywhere I glanced.
Still, I found a parking space and tried to maintain a positive attitude. I figured if I hiked deep enough into the wilderness, I could find some respite from everyone else. Maybe, I thought, I would even stumble across some muleys or even elk! Actually… I was bored of mule deer, but I still hoped to come across some elk. At the visitor’s center, I picked up a map and decided to venture down the least-traveled trail. To my pleasant surprise, the trail was very well maintained and very quiet. As I followed it under the shade of numerous barren gambel oaks, spotted towhees, robins, and mountain chickadees filled the still air with their song. I tried to get some pictures of a towhee on a branch above my head, but he flew away before I could properly focus on him.
Just as he flew away, however, the birdsong stopped and was replaced by someone in the parking lot blasting shitty rap music from their vehicle. I couldn’t hear the lyrics, but I could almost feel the beat. My bliss was gone as fast as the birdsong thanks to that guy. Then, I caught a very strong scent of perfume on the breeze, just in time to hear a large group of people well before they came around the bend. The scent was so strong that I nearly choked on it. “No wonder the birds got the hell outta Dodge…” I thought to myself.
At that point, I accepted that I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in Roxborough park, and decided it was time to go home. Not without getting at least one decent picture of Roxborough’s rock formations, however (which I did around several other people doing the exact same thing, most of whom were obviously from out-of-town).
With my metaphorical ears flattened, I sauntered back to my Xterra and decided to speed back to the serenity of Ken Caryl Valley to get some much needed alone time in actual nature. Where it would be just me, the birds, the deer, the red rocks, and the occasional (and much more respectful and respectable) fellow Ken Caryl resident.
Friday:
Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time Friday morning to spend time out in nature. But, given the weather that was forecast to come in starting that afternoon, I wanted to squeeze out as much outside time as I possibly could. So, off to the Valley I went just before the sun peeked over the eastern horizon.
I didn’t have a specific goal in mind, aside from just finding a peaceful place to exercise my anxiety away enough to where I could focus on my college stuff. I decided I’d spend my morning climbing around some red rocks and taking pictures of my deer friends.
As usual, the valley was quiet when I arrived near God’s Ass, with the exception of a light breeze hissing through the stubble and a flock of starlings making all sorts of interesting noises in a grove of cottonwoods by the Bradford house. I wasn’t interested in the starlings, so I headed up the rocks into the cave which is where my immature brain came up with “God’s Ass” in the first place.
Despite the stupid name I gave it, the red rock cave was still awesome as ever. A pair of pigeons were nesting in one of the alcoves above the cave, and they looked down at me and cooed as I entered it. While it was too dark to take any decent pictures from within the cave (at least, without a tripod), on the other side were more Fountain formation rocks facing the bright, morning sun. Not far from those rocks were backyards, but between the rocks and the yards was a small field of prairie, on which two bachelor muleys grazed. Both bucks had shed their antlers, but new ones were already quickly growing in, making the deer almost look like giraffes.
As usual, I found a decent spot to get pictures of the bucks, where I could sit on a bare spot on the ground with my back leaning up against the warm face of a small red rock. I rested my elbows on my knees, leaned my head forward so I was looking through my camera’s viewfinder, and began to watch the deer, looking for a perfect moment to capture them without also getting the houses in the background (I was hoping to get the trees instead).
Aside from the wind and the birds, I began hearing a low droning noise, which I assumed belonged to the local valley pilot I’d seen just a few days earlier. However, I got a little more concerned when it started getting louder and louder and louder. Instead of the buzz of an airplane, the noise was more of a "chchchchch" sound, like the blades of a helicopter. I glared back over my shoulder just in time for the deafening sound of a helicopter to fly less than 20 feet over my head, scaring both me and the deer shitless!
The deer bolted for the houses while I sat frozen in place, my jaw practically on the ground. Because I had my back against the rock, the downwash didn't get me (thankfully), but dust and dead grass ahead of me were kicked up as the helicopter veered left towards Willow Springs. As far as I could tell, the helicopter didn’t belong to the military, police, news, or hospital. It was a standard unmarked helicopter passing slowly overhead (it couldn’t have been going faster than 30 miles an hour), probably belonging to some rich dude who just wanted to get an ariel view of the valley.
I didn’t get back to my senses until the helicopter was no longer directly overhead. When I did, I forgot about the camera I had in my hands and immediately whipped out my phone to take a short video as the helicopter moved on its way. Why I did that, I’m not sure. Perhaps, in that moment, I feared that I was going crazy and wanted to make sure that what just happened really just happened.
Now that my heart was going a million miles an hour and my feet were quivering in my boots, I decided it was best to head home.
On the bright side, I didn’t need to drink any more tea or soda that morning. Thanks to that helicopter, I was fully awake!
Saturday:
My anxiety was through the roof when I woke up early Saturday morning and noticed that the wind was already picking up. Aside from thunder, high wind is one of nature’s forces that never fails to spook me a bit. I’m pretty much fine with breezy and even windy days, so long as I can see what’s around me and am not at risk of getting impaled by a tree branch. Staying for weeks out on the plains of Elizabeth, Colorado during my later high school years got me used to the wind. Dare I say, the wind out there usually felt pretty good.
But, there’s wind. Then, there’s whatever the hell was roaring over the state starting Saturday. The wind was so bad that not even my dogs wanted to go outside in it. I couldn’t blame them either. To be entirely honest, I was nervous about the wind, too. But, they still had to go outside periodically, and I went out there with them to make sure they did their business before sprinting back inside.
However, shit got real shortly after sunset. Thankfully, both dogs were done going outside for the day, so I didn’t have to worry too much about going out there with them. But… my God. Even in the safety and shelter of my house, I could hear the wind loud and clear. Hell, I could feel it bowing the walls and windows at times, too. The trees outside were dancing in circles with each passing gust. And my cottonwood was littering the yard with twigs and branches.
In my front yard, I worried a lot about my giant spruce tree. I’d parked my Xterra in the driveway hoping that if the tree were to come down, the house would take the brunt of the hit and my Xterra would remain drivable. Still… having a spruce-sized hole in the roof would’ve been a huge problem, so I just had to hope that wouldn’t happen.
Just before going to bed (AKA hiding in my basement bedroom) for the evening, I went outside to get everything tied down one last time. The few bungee cords I had didn’t stretch enough to wrap around the grill, so I put the heaviest rocks and cement bricks I had onto the grill to keep the cover from blowing away. I also weighed down the lawn chairs in the same way, stacking them up against the gate leading to the side of the house, hoping they’d hold it close.
All the while, I stayed underneath the porch roof as much as I could, where I was (mostly) sheltered from the wind, and kept my ears open for the distinctive sound of cracking wood, in case my cottonwood tried to kill me again (yes, it has tried before). Even under the porch, however, the wind was still miserably cold and strong. My hat refused to stay on and the wind sliced through to my bones. Needless to say, I didn’t spend much time out there before seeking shelter in my cozy little basement den.
To drown out the noise of the wind outside, I had two fans running full-blast in my bedroom. Even then, I could hear it, and poor Toby was so scared that he hid under my bed for most of the night.
To be continued...
