Part 1
Throughout our travels in the 50 Amp Vision Quest we have spent a good deal of our time during the summer months enjoying working and playing under the umbriferous Rocky Mountains. We seem to dart in and out of them along the entirety of their spine in America. Something always draws us back here during the long hot summer solstices where we work and play under the rarefied azure skies and multi-hued, billowing cumulus clouds tumbling over the peaks. This particular summer it is beneath the Eastern Slope of the Rockies where we will plant our flag for 5 months or so working in one of the three town parks of friendly Lyons, Colorado, the so-called “Gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park”. We have not spent much time along the Eastern Slope. Fate and volunteer work have always drawn us more into the heart of the Rockies in central Colorado, western Wyoming and Montana. This summer will be new and different for us as we will be working for a town instead of a federal or state agency and there will be no campers in our park along with our setting in the foothills along the extreme western edge of the Great Plains. Our anticipation for what Summer brings us is bubbling just beneath the surface as we drive north along I-25, that historic corridor of promise where the ghosts are still visible and palpable from so many cultures and civilizations past.
The Past is Present
It seems that almost weekly an archaeologist somewhere in the Western Hemisphere, the New World as it were, has stumbled across bones or tools tens of thousands of years old, pushing back the known presence of humans in this hemisphere ever further into the past. Just this past week I read an article wherein scientists who study such things had discovered bones and tools traceable to 20,000+ years ago in South America’s Andes Mountains. Here along that borderline of the Eastern Slope and the Great Plains we set up our camp along a great historic byway where peoples have earnestly traveled for at least 13,000 years. I suspect one day that time frame will be pushed back a great deal as well as this was one of just a few migration routes from the Bering Straights land bridge of the Ice Ages. It’s easy to understand why this would be so once you look at the area for what natural resources it offers.
This narrow band of land, roughly the route of I-25 north and south, holds the keys to providing ample sustenance and shelter throughout the seasons. Many swift-flowing rivers and creeks pour out of the Rockies on to the plains here carrying not only life-giving pure water, but providing shelter during the harsh Winter months within their recesses and deep creases where they meet the plains. Giant Cottonwoods would line the banks and provide fuel and shelter. Game was plentiful along their banks and, of course, fishing was relatively easy using nets and spears and the occasional bone-crafted hook. Our particular camp this Summer is right along the banks of the confluence of the North and South forks of the St Vrain Rivers, named after a trapper and explorer who traded extensively with the Arapaho and Ute tribes. Further north you find the Poudre River tumbling down from the mountain pass. The fabled North and South Platte Rivers do likewise, as does Boulder Creek just south of us. The great Arkansas River waters the plains to the south. If you were the wandering kind following herds of large mammals these rivers and creeks would act as stepping stones, oasis as it were, as you traveled. Some of the small groups of travelers stayed on making short forays on to the plains for hunting migrating herds while other groups continued south.
Millenia passed. Enter the Spanish. After the Spanish and Cortez made their way inland from their landings along the coasts their cultural influences were profound. When the tribes acquired the horses the Spanish left, whose offspring became newly naturalized to the land, a great revolution took place. The great horse culture of the Plains was born. Now, the tribes that were agrarian yet prone to the nomadic life could take the energy of the great grasslands and utilize it through the power and transportation of this magnificent animal. Access to the herds of Buffalo, whose every inch of bone, flesh, and blood provided use to the tribes, became so much easier. The tribes adopted seasonal migrations with forays onto the plains during the Summer hunting months and retreating to the secure river valleys for shelter during the Winter. For hundreds of years this was the way of the Arapaho, Ute, Cheyenne, Lakota, Plains Apache, Pawnee, the Comanche, as well as numerous smaller tribes, until of course the European- descended explorers found a little speck of golden sparkle amidst a small tributary of the South Platte...the same golden sparkle that lured Cortez centuries earlier.
And so, this strip of land on the edge of the Rockies, watered by meandering streams of snow melt, fertile in the Summer and protective in the Winter, continued to be contested. But now the European-descended immigrants were added to the mix. At first it was gold and the dream of overnight riches, just waiting to be picked up in the streams, or at least some kind of relief from the economic depression in the eastern cities, that brought tens of thousands across the Kansas and Colorado plains. Gold, of course, was indeed scattered throughout the eastern face of the Rockies, just not as much or as easy to find as was advertised.
Along with the gold seekers came the civilization builders, in the form of all the support that the prospectors needed. Prospectors begat merchants and taverns and livestock wranglers, who begat houses of ill-repute and doctors and on and on. Very quickly, within the matter of just a few years, land speculators and those who sought their fortunes in town-building were advertising in newspapers in St Louis and Kansas City that the land was the most fertile, well-watered land in all the world, just perfect for farming. They marketed this town-building strategy as heavily as GM markets a new car. And brother, were they ever successful marketers.
By the time of the end of the Civil War, six short years after the gold rush in Colorado began, the land had been changed so dramatically that it became almost unrecognizable to the tribes who had roamed here for hundreds of years. The streams were crowded with prospectors. The huge Cottonwood stands along the banks were gone, cut down for firewood, fences, and farmhouses. The rich grasslands were literally eaten away by grazing horses and cattle the immigrants brought with them. The great roaming herds of buffalo had left and those that remained had relocated to the central plains of Kansas in small groups scattered about. White folks shot at them out of rail cars as they passed them by hurriedly. A catastrophic ecological collapse followed, not unlike what scientists warn us of today.
Now, the various tribes, whose lives depended upon using the resources in a migrating, seasonal pattern, began fighting for the very few resources left them. While once they had formed a loose treaty amongst themselves, they began to fight each other as well as the immigrants. Their way of life was doomed and they knew it. It remained simply a matter of how to deal with it. Their choice was to cooperate with the immigrants and try to adapt, or fight, most often, to the death. We know that outcome. It is embedded within the very weave of the fiber of every American flag we fly so proudly. It is the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful. This land was and is contested constantly, even unto today.
As we settled into our new summer job hosting in this most excellent town park I reflected upon all this history, these struggles and contests over the land. Really, it was not that long ago. The faces of these disparate peoples are almost visible, ghosts as it were. When the traffic along these growing towns and cities ebbs at night one can almost hear them talking over the long-dead coals of a lost campfire. And yet, new “campfires” are being lit all around. The land is still contested. Up and down, north and south along the eastern face of the Rockies homes are built and roads are laid down, but to me, there is no sense, no feeling of permanence. It feels to me that everyone is moving, searching, still contesting the land. The American immigrant from California, the first generation Mexican family, the IT engineer from Ohio, the Ute tribal who earns a law degree so as to wrestle on a level playing field in the courts over water rights, even the “local” whose family has lived here for a few generations now, the so-called retired nomads in the motor home with their puppy working for the season ...we’re all on the move, drawn here magnetically as if somehow the land itself is part of our DNA.
Lyons, Colorado
We arrived in Lyons at our newest home in Bohn Park on the 17th of May. We had traveled north along I-25 and turned left heading west on State Highway 66. We could see off in the distance the snow-covered ridge line of the Rockies and Long’s Peak scraping the clouds as they passed over. The gaping holes poured rain down upon the foothills in small, isolated pockets. Strong beams of sunlight penetrated the slits between the billowing cumulus causing the vibrancy of the late spring greenery to positively explode. This had been a very cool and wet Spring in comparison to the past several years of hot and dry weather here. The Winter’s snow pack was at near-record depths along the mountain sides. The streams and creeks fairly cascaded explosively down the valleys of the Rockies and out on to the plain. This was Spring in all its glorious splendor... the potential of the land unleashed.
Just as we entered the foothills of the Rockies we crossed the town line of Lyons. It’s a small town of 2400 souls if you count every body and some folks twice. Their homes are packed neatly into the confines of a small bowl of land surrounded by red sandstone bluffs and hills with some mountainside retreats clinging to the steep sides and switchback roads that rise and surround the town. There is a two-block by four-block “downtown” of shops and restaurants catering mostly to tourists who pass through town on their way to Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park some 18 miles west. Boulder, that sanctuary of Colorado-ness lies about 18 miles south. Loveland is perhaps 20 miles north. Lyons is blessed by not one, but two streams that lace their way through town and meet as luck would have it in Bohn Park where we will be camp hosting this Summer. Prettier little streams you will not find anywhere. The North and South St Vrain creeks drain separate slopes of the Front Range and are dependent upon snowpack for most of their flow. This year they are roiling with froth, foam, and foment danger should you carelessly enter their flow as they race to the plains.
We found our park and as we drove down the dirt and gravel entrance we bounced over large potholes as we surveyed the grounds. Our spot was fenced in forming a kind of yard and it was right off the parking lot, no shade whatsoever. We drove on with trepidation. At first glance the park was not exactly what we pictured in our mind’s eye. That impression, however, was quickly allayed once we got out and walked about. I submit you will not find a prettier town park with all the amenities this park has in all the US. At least, we haven’t found it yet. To put the park into perspective and understand how it came to be so well thought out and so beautiful you have to look at its history and that of the town of Lyons.
Lyons, Colorado
Lyons, Colorado was founded by E S Lyons, a visionary who saw the potential of the abundant red sandstone that is so prevalent in the area. Since Lyons arrived in 1881 the sandstone has been quarried and shipped out in large flat sections, prized for its durability and its beauty. I even had some of this very sandstone in the rock walls and patios I built back in Kirkwood, Mo when we lived there. It’s gorgeous stuff. Even the seats in the world famous Red Rocks Amphitheater south of Boulder are built from red Lyons sandstone.
Life went along rather slowly here for 130 years or so. The town grew a little here, a little there. Modest homes filled the valley and a few wealthy and discerning families built up on the hillsides for the views and the cool breezes that filled the summer evenings, rolling down through the pass on the western edge of town. Life was good here. The residents were and are a progressive lot who understand how to work together on civic issues and realize that what they have here in this little town is unique and should be protected and nurtured. Then, the flood of 2013 hit the town like a biblical event...a 1000 year event to be precise. Everything within a several hundred yards of the rivers was washed away...gone...in an instant. The very park we host was wiped off the earth. None of the structures remained and all the ball fields and amenities were made into soggy memories. Nine souls lost their lives and dozens of homes were carried miles downstream piece by piece. Folks here still suffer Post Traumatic Stress from the event.
Enter the US Government and FEMA. Ample funds were provided. The townsfolk created a vision of how they wanted the town and the parks rebuilt, and what a vision it was and is. Our particular park, Bohn Park, is one of the three that were rebuilt. Without photos to illustrate the grand vision and beauty of the parks it is difficult to understand how elegantly they are laid out, but I’ll try to portray them here in print.
The Parks of Lyons, Colorado
Bohn Park follows the south fork of the St Vrain river. A serpentine pathway follows the course of the river all the way through the park grounds with several red sandstone constructed entryways to the river itself. At several intervals small falls and rapids have been built into the river bed to give tubers and kayakers a little thrill as they glide through the park. Elegant footbridges cross the river at both ends of the park. At the downstream eastern end of the park a dramatic chute ends at the footbridge where a deep pool, Black Bear Hole lies in waiting. This is a natural picnic spot and summer weekends find a couple dozen folks camped out for the day around the swimming hole cooling off in the always chill waters. Kids will be riding the chute all day long in their inner tubes. Further downstream perhaps an eighth of a mile the town built a kayak training course with gates suspended by overhead wires that agile boaters can practice their moves in and around. Yet another chute for thrill seekers creates a nice, strong mini falls that skilled kayakers will try to suspend themselves within for a few minutes as if surfing on the ocean yet held captive by the hydraulics. Shallow water for swimming fills the wide eddy adjacent to the training course.
Back in the park’s central area you will find a dozen or so picnic tables strategically laid out with barbecue grills. On weekends these are filled with large family gatherings of 15 to 20 people at each and every picnic site. Folks will grill all day long starting early in the morning and lasting until dark when the park closes. Pick up volleyball games are usually going on in the afternoons, sometimes pitting family against family. Children all the way to grandparents will be out there bouncing the volleyball back and forth over the net. On Saturdays it is the custom of the Women’s Song Circle group to gather under one huge Cottonwood and sing A Capella melodies for a few hours. It is a uniquely pleasant experience to take in as you lounge beneath the shade of an old tree’s leafy embrace, let me tell ya.
A tennis court frequented by pickle ball devotees lies off to one side of the park. In the center of the park a world-class skate board park has been constructed. Folks ( not just kiddos ) come from as far away as Denver to show off their stuff. Classes are conducted several mornings each week for young kids to learn the skills and practice. Of course, the town’s kids flock here every afternoon and evening in the Summer.
Next in line within the Park lie two minor league class ball fields where organized baseball and softball games are held nearly every night. The townsfolk take their softball extremely seriously here. The youngster’s teams don’t lose. They just don’t. They win all the time. Should they lose a game the coaches will show a courteous and sportsmanlike game face, but let me tell you, anything more than one or two yearly losses in the schedule is cause for consternation all winter long. I know this because I umpired some of the youth games. Nonetheless, the games, especially when the adult co-ed games are held, are town-wide events. Everyone is there. To ensure that everything is just right for the games, the town employs a full time grounds keeper who works the fields every single day. They are indeed pristine, at least minor league quality. When under a crunch to get them ready Diane and I will work with the grounds keeper to help. We’ve pulled many a weed over there, particularly because the town will not use commercial weed killer in the Park as a commitment to nurturing and preserving the semi-organic nature of the area
Adjacent to the ball fields there is a many-acre open field, perfect for pickup soccer games, football games, badminton...whatever. The town keeps it fluffy and green with expensive irrigation systems that water the grounds systematically through automated controls. Beyond that to the south there is a bike park very similar to the skate park except that it is constructed of dirt. This is “X-Games” television-quality layout and construction. At times the park feels like an “X Games” training facility!
Finally, continuing to the south, there is a multi-use practice field for football and soccer. The adjacent town High School uses these fields but they are also open to anyone else to utilize. Get this...a free to the public, 10-acre, open dog park completes the Bohn Park amenities. It’s gigantic! Lyons is known as a dog-friendly town where nearly everyone owns at least one dog. Thus, the dreamers and visionaries who re-constructed the town’s parks made double sure to include a really nice place for Fido to romp and play. In all our travels across this country we have never, ever seen a small town build and maintain such a well thought out and maintained park system.
Laverne Johnson Park is laid out on the far western edge of town, a scant third of a mile, if that, from Bohn Park, our home. It is referred to as the gem of Lyons, though I’ll challenge that moniker and say that Bohn Park should wear the crown. ( a little selfish pride here ) I will say that it is more dramatic in its layout with a magnificent red sandstone bluff rising above the North Fork of the St Vrain River bordering its southern side. I mentioned earlier that the town has both the North as well as the South Forks of the St Vrain running through it and that their confluence is in Bohn Park. In the late springtime the bluff is completely festooned with gorgeous purple wildflowers ( sadly, an invasive species, I’m told, but nonetheless breathtakingly beautiful ). The river runs right along the bluff and makes for a magnificent setting while picnic sites and yes, camping sites lie along the opposite bank of the towering red bluff as well. Laverne Johnson Park also has some amenities superb for guests that, frankly, I would be amazed to see anywhere else. This park is the only place we’ve seen across the country with such unusual amenities.
How about a children’s zip line? Yep, they have a zip. Of course, being for youngsters, it is completely safe and hardly hazardous as it traverses perhaps 50 yards or so across a lawn. Still, the kiddos love it. Then, there is the lazy river. This imitation river is made of natural stone and is shallow enough for little kids to float along in. Whereas the St Vrain can be a little hazardous at times, especially for little ones, this little version gives the young ones the feeling of being in the St Vrain, but with the safety factor carefully considered. A splash pad is located next to the lazy river and is the perfect antidote for the hot and dry days of Summer here. A large field in the center of the Park offers lots of room for general goofing around and Summerizing in between dips into the River. It lies next to a sand volleyball court that folks flock to use.
The main attraction it would seem on weekends in Lyons during the Summer is tubing on the St Vrain River. People from all over flock to plop their kiesters down onto inner tubes and various donut shaped floaties to ride the swift river through town and the two main parks. The total ride might be a mile or so long, but as I mentioned earlier, when the town was rebuilt after the flood a dozen or so cascades or small rapids were built into the river for fun’s sake and they make for a splendiferous ride on a tube or kayak. Laverne Johnson Park has a Tube Concession and it regularly rents out all their tubes during the Summer weekends. The Wal Mart store in Longmont about 10 miles away sells out of inner tubes weekly as well as folks buy their own transportation for the river runs.
This Summer, due to the snow melt runnoff being the heaviest in years, tubing had to be banned on the river until long about 4th of July. The river was simply too dangerous to allow any floaters on it except experienced kayakers. Here as of late the river has dropped to levels where an occasional big booty scrapes portions of the rock river bed as the folks glide down the river at three to four miles per hour. Torn seats on swim suits can be seen as folks trudge back up river on foot to their starting places, and, we find a fair amount of blown out inner tubes as we empty out the trash cans each day on our camp host job, the victims of too many sharp rocks.
This year at Laverne Johnson Park the visitors got an extra treat. A pair of Golden Eagles have a nest up on the bluffs overlooking the river and the Park. You can see them coming and going, gliding overhead in the late morning updrafts as the air in the valley warms, and hunting along the river for fish. Two chicks were hatched in the nest as well and it was marvelous to see them poke their scruffy heads up out of the nest looking for mom or dad who were busy hunting for meals for the hungry tikes. Not far from our place back in Bohn Park there is a Prairie Dog village that we like to visit. The little critters stand up on their hind legs and chirping, announce our arrival as we come by to visit. It has been reported among folks at Laverne Johnson Park that mom and dad Golden Eagle have returned to the nest carrying what surely looks like an occasional careless Prairie Dog. Such is life, even in a town park.
Another frequent visitor to the Parks is a roaming Black Bear. Oddly, this furry fella has not raided the trash cans but instead stays on the opposite bank of the River from the Park proper. His daily forays along the water’s edge are often seen by surprised and pleased visitors to Laverne Johnson Park. Then, there is the Bull Moose that trundled through our Park, Bohn, one sunset in early June. The Park was nearly empty save one pair of 20 something year old young ladies who were wrapping up their picnic when Mr Moose came right down the path by the river and passed by them only 20 feet or so distant. They came running up to our motor home out of breath and explaining what they had seen a mile a minute. We ran down to the River ourselves to check it out but he had vanished. Soon afterwards folks in town began posting pictures on the town facebook page in real time of the big guy’s travels through the town’s streets. It turned into a huge sensation and families flooded the streets trying to catch a glimpse, but this guy was stealthy and after an extended walk of about an hour he was gone to who knows where.
Back to the life and death nature of foothills of the Rockies, Rattlers are a common feature here. Not a week goes by that someone reports they’ve seen one, or more importantly, heard one. By and large they stay out of the Parks proper, but just last week a 2 ½ year old boy was bitten by a Rattler as he crawled out of his tent early one morning. The culprit had coiled up right next to the opening of the tent and as the toddler crawled out the snake nailed him. Fortunately, the young lad was taken to the hospital pronto and though it was a battle for him, he will live to tell the tale. We’ve had our own encounters with Rattlers during our 5+ years on the 50 Amp Vision Quest but so far this Summer we’ve not run across any. Several varieties of non-poisonous snakes have crossed our path but so far, thank God above, no Rattlers...yet. Once, though, I did find a baby Blue Racer in the men’s room as I was cleaning it one morning. I took the little guy out to the woods and let him go, none the worse for wear. As I turned him loose he darted away from me in a sideways fashion, kind of like you might see a Side-Winder slither. He was a quick one!
Sandstone Park is a narrow, tree-lined and shaded respite in the middle of the commercial district of town. It is perhaps a block and a half long and I would posit 50 to 60 yards wide throughout its length. During the day it serves as a lingering place where you can cool off in the shade of the many trees. It’s true character comes to life, however, during concerts that the town puts on, especially during the Summer when every Wednesday evening free concerts are given. The town built a very nice open-air stage in the middle of the Park constructed from huge slabs of the native red sandstone. It has a porch-like appearance and offers the band a roof for cover in the event of light rain. The area’s best bands perform there during the free concerts and we attend nearly every show. Folks from town bring lawn chairs and blankets and set up throughout the lovely green space on the lawn. When the mood strikes dancing breaks out spontaneously. Kids frolic freely. The concerts are truly a community, family event and friends and neighbors are reunited in a perfect little civic postcard that could well be 21st century Norman Rockwell painting. The bands are good, too. There is talent to spare in these parts and the expressive nature of the community is evident not only in music but in art of all manner.
I have to say that in all our travels we’ve not seen a community to compare with Lyons as regards the amenities it offers its citizens, the character and progressive nature of the folks who live here, and the overall setting amidst the foothills of the Rocky Mountains and close proximity to major attractions, both civic and geographic. Even today as I pen this edition of The 50 Amp Vision Quest USA Today newspaper features Lyons, Colorado as one of the ten best small towns in America. The town landed at Number 3. Frankly, I’d have vote them number one. We pinch ourselves often and ask, “How does this little town of 2400 souls pull all this off?”
Rocky Mountain National Park
The first time I came to these parts in 1964, the Front Range as it’s referred to, I was 12 years old. Our family set off from St Louis, Webster Groves to be precise, on a two-week, velociously organized tour of what seemed like the entire Rocky Mountains. My dad rented a tent trailer that we hauled behind our car that slept four. Never mind that there were 5 of us ( My brother Mike stayed home to work his summer job ). I recall heading through the Badlands and the Black Hills in the sweltering back seat crammed in between my two brothers, Joe and Norm. We took in Yellowstone, Grand Tetons, Jackson Hole, and all the major sites and Parks clear south to Santa Fe, NM. Of course, Rocky Mountain National Park was a key point along the trip. I recall us driving up Longs Peak, Pike’s Peak...any peak that could be driven up...we did it. My dad never met a mountain road he could not conquer. He was as intrepid as Sir Edmund Hilary on Everest behind the wheel of that scarlet red and ivory two-tone ‘57 Pontiac.
Diane and I returned here together first in 1972 along with one Jimmy Tillay as well as several other times in later years. I came again in 1975 with my friend Dave Perez, Pete Perez, and Jim Bowie on a mission to build Jim’s parents a garage at their home outside of Estes Park. Have mercy! I could write an entire book about that madcap adventure. Again, in 1976 I returned with the Bluegrass Alliance band with Vince Gill and Bob Breidenbach, Robert Poole, Bill Millet, and Lonnie Pierce as we were on tour out west. Perhaps we’ve been here 5 or 6 times all told. This year the Park seems different to me. When we arrived in mid May the mountains were draped as I’ve never seen before with a pure white mantle of snow, brilliantly glowing in the sun. Even now in August, snow remains in the small glacier filled crevices and draws of the alpine slopes. The National Park Service has a new reservation system for visitors in place this year limiting the total number of visitors daily. It is a hassle for vacationers for sure, but I think overall it is a good thing. This Park has been loved to near-death over the years. To me the Park seems reinvigorated somehow as we drive the short 25 miles from Lyons up to the entrance. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it almost feels as if I’ve never seen the Park before.
One one memorable trip this Summer Diane and I elected to drive up to the Alpine Visitors’ Center on the infamous Trail Ridge Road via a dirt one-lane road loaded with 90 degree switchbacks and exhilarating views. This proved to be a great decision. Along the way, including views and perspectives of the razor-like peaks and steep mountain sides we followed a gorgeous little stream that cascaded down the northern slope of whatever the name of the mountain is we were ascending. I should know its name, but I’ve forgotten it. It was still drawing its life from melting snow atop the peak, even now in mid August. We stopped to admire a lone Big Horn Sheep feeding in a meadow and chatted with a curious Marmot who seemed to not know what to make of us. Driving slowly, seemingly forever upward, we climbed through several climate zones and kept note of how the fauna was adapting to the changing environments. Once we reached the summit and Trail Ridge Road we stopped to take a hike of perhaps a mile or two through the Alpine tundra. The wind fairly whistled at a brisk 20 to 30 miles per hour and the chill factor certainly felt as if we were hiking in 35-40 degree weather. At well over 12,000 feet of altitude we stopped now and then to catch our breath.
The 360 degree views surrounding us were astonishing, inspiring, life-altering to a degree. The experience is one that caused me to think deeply about life and what it is to be alive. I’m sure some of the other hikers up there had the same emotions as me. How could you help it in such a grand environment as you experience first-hand the stark, bold reality wherein life has adapted to extreme challenges? Tiny floral bouquets breakout of the rocks where the growing season is a scant 6 weeks and temperatures dive to below freezing every night. Thousand year old lichens chisel cracks in the giant boulders as they secrete minute amounts of acid. Most astonishing to me were the herds of Elks roaming the tundra at this altitude. They appeared to me healthy and thriving amidst this extremely harsh climate. I had no idea they foraged the tundra at this altitude.
As we looked off in the distance, straining our eyes to see how far away we could make out the magnificent earth images available to us at this height, we saw tumultuous weather patterns developing seemingly independent of each other around the points of the compass. It almost seemed as if that the winds were sweeping in different directions, north from south, east from west. Bundling summer Cumulus clouds to the west, sheets of intense rain southward, curtains of Virga, falling and yet disappearing into some invisible catch basin off to the east, the northern view threatening with clouds of deep green grey disdain. Could the weather be rotating around our peak?
I had to ask myself how this was occurring. Were we in some kind of maelstrom? I almost wished we had a meteorologist along with us, yet I resisted the temptation to try to Google an answer to my wandering questions. No, I didn’t want any more 21st century technology up on top of this plateau than was necessary at this point. I just let it play out in front of us unanswered, so deeply moved and involved in the moment. It is at times such as this that the grandeur of the planet invades your soul and you realize that every single molecule in creation is connected, including yourself, whether you embrace it or not. Yet, how many times have I stood unassuming in my day to day life involved in whatever task was at hand oblivious to the same sense of connectedness? As I stride along through the Park picking up litter or collecting trash in my little role as Camp Host does the field beneath my feet not hold similar mysteries and universes as the glorious mountain top?
After a while, such thoughts and questions invariably lead me down rabbit holes to places where the Mad Hatter starts laughing at me as he runs off yet again with the answers in his pocket and a voice returns me to another reality,
“We ought to be getting back to the Park before that storm hits up here. Do you have the car keys or did I put them in my purse?”
...To be continued with Part 2