Elevation 11,700

Elevation 11,700

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We reached the Lobo Pass overlook on our way home from Creede, a quick detour. We piled out of the truck and into the pure air, dark clouds building and rain visible miles away. 

Once again, I tried taking a panoramic photo of the view in front of me, and once again I failed. Instead I tried to memorize what I saw from the pass: the never-endingness of it, dark forested hills in the foreground and sunlit peaks behind. A parfait of mountains, sky and clouds. 

We took turns guessing the elevation. I low-balled it at 8,800 feet, a rookie move since we’re staying above 7,000 and this was much higher. Others estimated 9,000 or 10,000. Then we looked it up: 11,700. Almost 12,000 feet above sea level. No wonder it felt like we were on top of the world. 

Last Chance Mine

Last Chance Mine

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When we pulled into the cramped parking lot we had gone as far as we could go. Last Chance Mine, the sign read, and that’s just what it seemed. Our last chance to visit a mine on this trip, since the Creede Mine was closed. Our last chance to turn around and find the loop road that was taking us around the mountain. 

Turns out, the name had another, more colorful meaning. A long-ago prospector, Ralph Granger, having struck out on other claims, was about to give it all up, move to Denver and become a city boy. This was his last chance to hit it big, he told his cronies down at the bar. But when Granger went to collect his burro (the sale of which would be his ticket out), he couldn’t find the critter. He looked around town to no avail, finally locating him 2,000 feet up the mountain. 

Granger was so angry at the wild goose chase that when he reached the burro he beat his hammer on a rock to vent his frustration. And that strike revealed the apex of a rich silver vein that ultimately yielded over $2 billion of the precious medal. 

We toured the mine yesterday, getting a taste of mining life circa 1891. It was fascinating and creepy. The best part: after an hour and a half they let us out. We made our way down to the old Wild West town of Creede, its main street dead-ending in a box canyon, and celebrated with ice cream. 

Ice Cave Ridge

Ice Cave Ridge

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When I was a kid, I liked to explore the farm behind our house. It was mostly a cow pasture, but my romantic 14-year-old self once mapped it, naming one sheltered section the Land of Eternal Snows. 

I probably made this discovery in early March,  and I imagine that the small amount of white stuff that remained was gone the next day, but the Land of Eternal Snows it was.

Today I walked past fissures so protected from the sun that snow can last in them well into June. Since we were hiking in August, these were simply caves, not ice caves, but to peer into them was to see the earth revealing itself, layer by layer. 

What was most impressive about this trail, though, were the views off the ridge: mountains beyond mountains and a brow across from our trail, higher and more impressive than the one where we stood. I stayed well back from the edge. I always do. 

A Golden Day

A Golden Day

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We arrived during the”golden hour,” that magical period of shadows and slanted light, and the arrival time seems to be casting its glow on the whole trip: The view from our place in Pagosa Springs, which goes on forever. 

The funky downtown, with its hot springs, river and old general store.

The late-day walk we took with two doggie friends — short legs, big hearts.

And moonrise over the San Juan National Forest. A golden day from start to finish.

Great Circle Route

Great Circle Route

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It was a clear flight most of the way into Denver yesterday, and I had a window seat. I snapped a few photos and today discovered where they were: Wellington, Ohio; Bellevue, Ohio — places a little south of Lake Erie, whose shores we flew over for a while. 

Less than an hour later we were sailing above the clear blue of a large inland sea: Lake Michigan. From there we angled down through southern Wisconsin and Minnesota, crossing the Mississippi not far from Prairie du Chien. 

Clouds moved in as we traversed Iowa and Nebraska but they cleared as we approached Denver, long enough to see the irrigation circles in eastern Colorado. It was a geography lesson in a nutshell, a lovely morning in the heavens on the great circle route. 

Skipping Ahead

Skipping Ahead

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Today we travel west to Pagosa Springs, Colorado. There’s family there, and a lot to explore. 

It’s been a while since I’ve driven through the American West, and I’m looking forward to the feeling I get there, a sense of limitlessness, of big skies and possibility. 

As a daughter of parents who drove across the country on their honeymoon, who thought nothing of cramming four kids into a station wagon and heading from Kentucky to California, skipping any part of a land journey feels like cheating. 

I should be driving to Colorado, a part of me says.  But the older, wiser part disagrees. Are you kidding, this is what you always wanted when you were a kid, to skip ahead, to forgo the tedium of familiar landscapes for the crisp, pure difference of western terrains. 

Skipping ahead is what we plan to do today.

(Colorado’s Great Sand Dunes, 2019.) 

Elevenses

Elevenses

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As a term it is a mouthful, and as a practice … it’s a mouthful, too. But just a nibble of a mouthful. 

Elevenses is a break Brits enjoy at 11 a.m., time to pour a cup of tea, nibble on a biscuit and catch one’s breath during a busy morning. 

I often find myself wanting a snack at 11 a.m., especially if I haven’t had much breakfast. And if I’m walking after a few hours of writing, this is the perfect time to stoke up for the expedition to come. 

Perfect for this repast is a handful of the animal crackers I impulsively bought last week. They have little taste but a satisfying crunch, and they certainly won’t interfere with lunch a couple hours later. 

So here’s to elevenses, a most civilized practice. 

Maximum Capacity

Maximum Capacity

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Yesterday a four-year-old birthday party here that must have strained the deck to maximum capacity. 

What is maximum capacity anyway? Hard to know when the deck is as old as this one. 

All’s well that ends well, I guess. I write this post from the deck, which is still standing — in fact thriving — on this lovely, low-humidity morning.

(The trampoline was full, too.) 

Going for Gold

Going for Gold

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The Olympics end today. What a run it’s been! From the rainy opening with the torch carried across the rooftops of Paris to the final games and heats, there have been thrills for sports fan — and for couch potatoes, too. 

It’s enough to make me tackle my chores with Olympic ardor. I already do my own form of race-walking, though with significantly less hip swivel. But yesterday I found myself vacuuming, cleaning and doing yard work with medals in mind. 

A bronze in dusting, a silver in weeding, and a gold in baking. It’s not a 3:51-minute 1,500 … but it’s something.

Between the Bands

Between the Bands

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There are flood warnings and tornado warnings here today, as what’s left of Hurricane Debby pummels us from offshore. I slipped out during a lull, which I thought at first might be the eye of the storm, but which was more likely a gap between bands of rain and wind. 

I left sunglasses at home but almost wished I’d worn them as the clouds parted from time to time. For the most part, though, it was a cloudy walk and a wild one. Winds whipping. Sticks crunching beneath my feet. A sense of urgency: get home before the skies open.

I made it, and now I wait for the predicted deluge. We certainly need it. I can almost hear the trees and plants lapping it up.