It’s going to be my 6th winter in the mountains of Southern Colorado. During the last 3 years I’ve been here full time and seen the fits and starts that is winter. Meaning winter doesn’t really start around here until December.
Except this year. We had a very dry fall, which is worrisome. And then we’ve had some significant white stuff in November.
Base of Cuchara Mountain Park, Thanksgiving Day 2022
And this Thanksgiving we had at least a foot of the white stuff. I didn’t have plans to go anywhere so me and the Ivory dog slept and ate rinse and repeat. We had to get out to brave the elements for our twice daily dog walk which in a foot of snow turns into a slog. A beautiful fun slog.
Living in the mountains at 9500′ means being struck, enveloped, and often overwhelmed by nature’s beauty. Because I face east, I often miss out on the alpenglow and peachy goodness that can accompany sunset in these here parts. Witness tonight’s sunset below as the shadows crept over West Spanish Peak in Southern Colorado. It’s pretty nice and it never gets old. Still, the brain craves novelty, I happened to be at Lathrop State Park the other day and was blown away by the vast landscape, still-fall colors, and snow-capped mountain range. So I grabbed a friend, and we went landscape and color hunting with our cameras. Ivory pranced along.
Lathrop State Park is just over half an hour’s drive, and it boasts two lakes, horse trails, an archery range, hiking trails, a golf course, and some of the best views anywhere. A winter storm would be moving in the next day, so we wanted to catch the last color of fall before the wind whooshed it away. We started at the south parking lot and walked clockwise around Martin Lake on the Cuerno Verde Trail for three miles.
The picnicking and boat ramp areas sent us on our way.
We spied geese and ducks having dinner and coming together, as waterfowl will, to form a raft.
As we kept walking the colors got brighter.
From the north end of the lake, the snow-capped East and West Spanish Peaks came into view. We shrieked with glee.
To the right of the two peaks is the Sangre de Cristo range on the trails of the (not currently operational) Cuchara Mountain Park ski trails.
It took away Ivory’s breath too.
The alpenglow from the rocks at the north end were fun to capture.
We dallied and began running out of daylight.
The night was a good reminder to slow down and savor, click some golden hour memories, stay close to home while going somewhere different, and gain a new perspective. And bring a friend and a dog.
Castle Trail at Mt. Falcon Open Space after the storm
“I’m going snowsporting,” I told my friend as I headed out with the dog. A good 8-10 inches of the white stuff had fallen the night before, and I had six snowsports in my car, ready to swish or crunch: snowboard, splitboard, skate skis, classic cross-country skis, snowshoes, and snow cleats. Because our destination is a highly trafficked spot in the foothills of Denver, the snow cleats would be enough. In winter parlance, it was almost a bluebird day, sunny and blue skies with a few lingering clouds.
Mismatch is the new black
I assembled my adult winter garanimals: wool base layer, wool vest, snowboard socks, gaiters, duck boots from DSW, lined pants, scarf, crochet hat friendly to pony tails, $14.99 gas station sunglasses, and the ever-awesome suede yet waterproof, beaded, faux-fur-lined snowboard mittens. Instead of a fancy hydration system I had a simple water bottle holder that when unzipped, becomes a water bottle backpack. OK, maybe a little fancy. My days of GORE-TEX for neighborhood jaunts are over.
Top notch Christmas present from years ago
These mittens are old enough to have a Spongebob-themed birthday party. They’ve seen most of Colorado as well as the inside of a cedar chest while I was recovering for a few years. The thing about this particular trail in this particular bit of open space–it’s where I learned how to mountain bike. Mt. Falcon has a mix of intermediate and easy trails from the west parking lot, aka “from the top.” Once I mastered those trails, and even began lapping for the extra workout, I started riding the trails from the east parking lot, aka, “from the bottom.” From the bottom is hard-core: 2.5 miles and over 1,000 feet of climbing, some of it on loose rock. The first time I tried clipless pedals in the early aughts was “from the bottom,” and I fell going uphill just as the dropoff steepens. From the bottom rides were best done early in the morning on a weekday since the climb is completely exposed, and it gets jammed up on the weekend. At my hard-coriest, I would try to “clear” the climb (without stopping) to the top in under an hour. Always failed.
Castle Trail: Easy on top, hard party from the bottom
But as long as one is mountain biking or snow-sporting or really just enjoying themselves, one is not failing. And today was an ice-cleat dog-walking day. It had been many years since I pedaled or hiked Mt. Falcon, but I do remember mountain biking during the winter there before fat bikes were a thing. Back in the aughts.
Ivory overlooks charred remains from a long-ago fire
Many were partaking in dog-walking Saturday. Dozens of really happy Coloradoans or visitors were out, in their winter garanimals, soaking in the blue and white serene scene, with easy exercise and quality canine time. Me included. I marveled at how the morning light was bouncing off east-facing pine needles and the snowy carpet. Mountain bike memories poured forth, collapsing into one another to form a Mt. Falcon montage. One memory sticks out.
Everyone who plays in the mountains knows summer afternoon thunderstorms occur. Everyone. So get yer playin’ done by 1PM at the latest, and descend. After a fairly successful grind up from the bottom (didn’t clear but only stopped once), I caught up on water, a Cliff Bar, and socializing under a shelter. The shelter serves as an intersection of the hard-cores and the casuals, and general agreement is that everyone is out having a good time, getting their heartrate up, and earning some bragging rights. But on this particular early afternoon the sky darkened and thunder started clapping. I quickly strapped the Camelback on, clipped in, and readied for my usual 20-minute (whee!) descent in an effort to beat the lightning. Success! As I reached the parking lot, unclipped, and started mounting the bike to the car, these two dudes passed me going up.
Walker home ruins at the end of the Castle Trail, from the top
Back in the aughts I would not have been to content to leisurely crunch through three miles of mostly flat terrain to visit a hundred year old building. In the aught years I even had a Ten Sports in Ten Days series. But that was injuries, surgeries, grad degrees, exes, jobs, and reflections ago. Gratitude is the current name of the game, where I’m truly happy just to get out, collect some vitamin D, exercise the Ivory girl, and talk with other furparents.
After eight surreal weeks living in the mountains of rural southern Colorado, it’s time to return to Denver. At least for a while. What’s been great: the fresh air, the limitless hiking opportunities, the simplicity of inconvenience, the mountain vistas, learning about wildlife, and cooking everything from scratch. What hasn’t been great: the small, cramped quarters of two people WFH, working from bed, doing laundry by hand, cold mountain mornings (and afternoons and evenings), and cooking everything from scratch.
Sturdy signage at the edge of the ski area
What I’ve noticed over the past two months is the amount of signage in national forest and wilderness areas. National Forest signage balances delicately between a sturdy and rural aesthetic. The signage at the abandoned ski area we’ve lived next to these recent weeks is less wayfinding, more boundary markers.
Top o’ the ski area to you
A ski area that has not experienced mechanized uploading in twenty years is bound to fall into disarray. Snowmaking equipment rusts into holes, fiberglass signs fade and degrade, chair lifts stand proudly still. As we zigzaggged our way up, across, and down ski trails, we spied signs of all kinds.
Fiberglass memories
Seeing decayed, broken ski trail signs brings out a sadness I usually do not feel when frolicking about. After all, what’s a ski area but wilderness cut up? Ski trail signs remind me that this used to be a place where families and couples bonded as they rode up together and shushed down. Sometimes when we’re happy hour hiking we’ll duck into the trees under the lifts and I look down to spot the line I would have taken. It’s at those moments that I think about how the ski area was closed more than it was open in the past 40 years. I’m heartened by the progress of the “Up the Hill” Project to reopen the bottom 50 acres to lift-served skiing in what was formerly Cuchara Mountain Resort.
The cross-country ski trails have remained accessible to anyone with navigation skillsTrail network adjacent to the ski area
In the meantime, there area dozens of miles of trails in the area and earning turns. I’ll miss the signs of the San Isabel National Forest and the wilderness areas of West and East Spanish Peak.
Stormy late April happy hour hike on the Bridge to Nowhere
Those who enjoy the outdoors as a stable form of recreation will recognize the term “go-to trail.” It’s the nearby trail, somewhere between easy and moderate, that you return to when time is tight, you need something familiar, or you are not in an adventuring mood. The go-to trail is as reliable as hometown friends, non-craft beer, and the restaurant down the street. You know what to expect, and it’s comforting.
Looking up Chair 5’s path
On the Bridge to Nowhere Trail, one passes three chairlifts, and skirts along the base of the ski area, moving in a southwesterly direction. The initial climb up what was formerly a green “Walk It Out” is short and steep. We have renamed in “Walk Up It.” Walk it Out is flanked by aspen groves on either side, providing colorful surroundings regardless of the season.
Aspen in AprilAspen in fall
Predictability is key to a go-to trail, and after a few dozen times you learn elevation gain is just under 500 ft. over two miles, out-and-back. You pass the lift house of Chair 5 where the trail narrows and slowly climbs to the edge of the ski area, appropriately signed to get you back to Chair 5.
Passing Chair 5 before workChair 5 during golden hour
Signs abound along this abandoned ski area. Some recognizable, some washed away by time and the elements.
Chair 5 markerSign o’ the seasons
Then, there are nature’s signs.
Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Sometimes even your go-to trail holds surprises. Luckily, we ran into no one or no animal.
Junipers in spring
One delight of the Bridge to Nowhere trail is the super secret juniper garden. The homemade gin was delicious, thanks for asking.
Destination fall: Bridge to NowhereDestination winter: Bridge to Nowhere
When living in the midst of the mountains and a pandemic, weekends become explore days. After six weeks of connecting to the world almost entirely by internet, my partner in crime and I have settled into a routine that appears to be working: Happy Hour Hiking after Zooming through work. We head out after 5PM not only so we can keep our day jobs, but also to avoid the unrelenting UV rays that burn and sap at 9,000 feet. Departures after 5PM still mean three hours of daylight–plenty of time for high altitude fun and necessary movement.
View of the mountains from across the valley
Weekends equal adventure time; we are weekend warriors incarnate. Most weekdays we venture out for two and a half to five miles and gain 500 feet in elevation. For this Saturday’s jaunt, which doubled as a celebration of finishing my first semester of library science school, we decided to go big: 7 miles and over 1500ft of climbing. This is an out-and-back trail a handful of miles from home. We were not going to go against Governor Polis’s safer-at-home policy. Alas, the Texas and New Mexico plates at the north trailhead meant not everyone was adhering to state policies. We had our bandanas with us, so we headed out at 2PM.
Conifers and grass tufts on the upper part of the trail. Hiking partner in blue.
The first couple of miles the trail is flanked by scrub oak with no canopy. The climb felt straight uphill. We have been averaging 22-32 minutes a hiking mile, and somehow today was no different even though it seemed steeper, relentless. After the first two miles, the flora changed to aspen and conifer and huge boulders that remind me of the glacier detritus of my New England childhood.
Lika-lichen?
Just as the trail seemed to flatten out, a side trail riddled with rocks appeared. My friend invited, “This looks pretty cool, Trace, and is probably worth checking out.” After navigating 50 steep feet of loose rock, we encountered a magical rock playground.
Boulders this way and that, striated, moss-strewn, lichen-covered. It was like a McDonald’s playground for adults with natural elements. We immediately began with what we had come for: senior photos.
Tree-leaning poseYearbook-ready
We snacked, marveled, frolicked, rested, breathed. The pandemic has really taught me to take one day at a time and be fully present. The magical mystery rock garden provided the perfect setting for that.
Perfect overlook into the neighboring county
We explored the outcropping and cave nearby, as pictured in the first photo of this post.
Cave resting
There’s something deliciously juvenile about being away all day, exploring, not watching the time, not glued to a screen, letting curiosity be our wayfinder. Destination: novelty and adventure.
Day 10 of mountain hide-awaying, and we’ve taken to light scheduled walks after the workday. The sun at 9,000 – 10,000 feet can be relentless, and we’re of Northern European stock. I love me some vitamin D, but I dislike harmful UV rays.
Spring comes to the forest
Off we sauntered in and around our favorite empty ski hill and federal lands. Nearest town: population couple hundred. Social distancing no problemo.
Not exactly spring skiing
March and April are mercurial months, weather-wise. Our snowiest months can also be our meltiest months.
Huffing up a green run
We’re learning, living at 9,000 ft., that less is more. Ski runs, even green ones, are not gently sloped. We’re also learning how to read melting snow, crusting snow, and crested snow and where one sinks to their knees unexpectedly. Hard to believe three days ago I snowboarded down an adjacent run.
Light, happy hour flakes
The bluebird sky gave way to light snow gave way to golden hour.
The colors of late in the day, late MarchThe top of Chair 4
We walked in and out of snowpack, wind, weather, and flurries on our way to Chair 4 and other ski runs. Hoping to explore more, we were stopped by deep snow.
It’s like Christmas on April Fool’s Eve
Hiking an empty snow-patched mountain is one of the best ways I know to compartmentalize and forget, for a needed 90 minutes, that we are living against a backdrop of a global pandemic. The likes of which very few living humans have experienced before. Spanish Flu survivors being the exception.
Happy Hour Smiles
Every day the mountains remind us how lucky and privileged we are to be hunkering down in a beautiful place. It’s a tricky balance between cabin fever, high altitude, creaky floors, low oxygen levels, stunning landscapes and no chance ever of pizza delivery. Still we smile.
Trying to make the most out of a global pandemic. On Friday my friend and I high-tailed it out of Denver to higher pastures in the San Isabel National Forest.
Afternoon blue sky
View of West Spanish Peak from the trail.
Late March snow
We had snowshoes but opted for Yak Trax with spikes and poles instead.
It’s been a wintry one in Denver so far, which bodes well for us wintry types. In my last post, I celebrated the unexpected snow day for the educator. In this post, I’m going to share a few words and images of snow hiking in Pine Valley Ranch, one of many of Jefferson County’s Open Space Parks, the jewels of the Front Range.
Pine Valley Ranch sits about an hour south and west of Denver along the 285 corridor. It is adjacent to the Buffalo Creek trails, which are very popular with mountain bikers in warmer climes. Back when I was a serious mountain biker, I would pilgrim to these trails for my birthday ride.
Pine Lake at Pine Valley Ranch. Look closely to see hockey players creating a rink.Winter designations
There were only a handful of cars in the parking lot when we arrived around noon after filling up on provisions at the local gas stations. My hiking partner and I had brought our snowshoes, but the couple leaving said the trail was tamped down well enough to just wear spikes, or in my case, Yak Tracks. The trail starts out easy enough, with a short beautiful walk around the park’s lake, where we passed ice fishers and hockey players, all in their designated spots. We decided to add a little strenuousness to the trail, opting to head into the Buffalo Creek trails, which I knew would provide us with some elevation.
We headed along the south end of the lake to the Buck Gulch trail
Buck Gulch, part of the National Forest Service and Buffalo Creek trails, wends it way through fire-ravaged forest from the Hi Meadow fire 20 years ago.
Fire ravaged snowy landscape
The hike up Buck Gulch was a burner for both the thighs and lungs, as well as a visual delight of rock outcroppings, black sticks for trees, fallen logs, hearty pines–all against an indigo backdrop.
Dead sticks among the livingWinter palette
Our original plan was Buck Gulch–Skipper Trail–Strawberry Field trail. I have mountain biked this route dozens of times, but the 600 ft. in elevation gain in the first two miles of Buck Gulch meant it was slow-going. Plus, we were trudging along on metal coils, not rolling along on tires. Ninety minutes in, I realized I had left my poles at the last pit stop, and we took stock in our options: original, intended route with only 5 hours of daylight left or measure our wins and turn around?
Point of return, head back the way we came
Smarter heads prevailed, as we determined that snow hiking 4 miles in 3 hours in quiet, serene National Forest was as good as it was going to get. We turned around.
Just snow and treesThe drive home along Platte River Road: Boulders in the South Platte
I have snowboarded and cross-country skied Eldora but never hiked it. Today was a spectacular day of fall colors, cool mist, springy, light hail, and solid friendship along the Lost Lake Trail near Nederland, Colorado.
SheSpoke 