Summer's Bounty

I love riding my mountain bike in mid-summer's glory on high alpine trails.

It never gets old, even after years of exploring.

While I'm out there, I sometimes see marmots. This one seemed so tame that I wondered if people had fed him. I talked with him for a while - and I named him Marvin. Do you see his two buck teeth? He's a huge rodent with the teeth to prove it.

Every year, I feel like the bottomless wildflowers are a gift, and I love playing with the Duo in them.

We play and play and play.

And then, some days, sunset is glorious. Do you see the almost full moon above the mountain?

This particular sunset, viewed from 11,300' in the mountains, got more intense by the moment. The mountain in the photo is almost 14,000' tall.

That almost full moon made the sky bright blue as the stars streaked across it over the course of almost an hour.

The bounty of summer is endless!

A close call

During our camping trip, we took a walk in the woods every evening. We tended to keep the Duo on leash because the evening hours are when the wildlife stir. One hike was particularly eventful.

First, we saw a marmot, standing on her hind feet and whistling warnings to her family. Her swollen mammary glands show that she did, indeed, have a family under the talus slope.

She scanned everywhere, rarely looking straight at us.

Because R was going completely bonkers over the marmots, we headed away from the talus slope and into a forest that felt like old growth. Huge trees, Engleman Spruce and Subalpine Fir, surrounded us. Under the forest canopy, the wildflowers flourished despite the shade.

We spotted movement, slow, but definite movement in the deep grass and flowers. Then, the creature emerged.

The porcupine moved as slowly as a sloth. Of course, with her huge quills, she doesn't need to be able to flee. She briefly considered climbing a tree but changed her mind.

Then, she navigated the forest floor that was littered with downed trees. She particularly liked walking on logs. By this point, the leashed dogs and the Runner were far away so that the dogs wouldn't stress her out. After this photo, I joined them, wanting to leave our prickly friend in peace.

We thanked our lucky stars that the dogs had been on leash. We recalled a backpacking trip deep in the Sierra Mountains more than two decades ago when one of our dogs, Astro, got a face full of quills when we were miles into the backcountry. Our sweet Astro let us pull out the quills with pliers. When we returned to civilization, the vet checked him out and said that we'd done a good and thorough job.

We were very happy not to be pulling quills out of either dog that evening. Instead, they posed for sunset photos and simultaneously stared at marmots.

Alpine adventures

Continuing with stories from our camping trip to the high mountains southwest of us in Colorado...

The start of our trip was delayed by K's kidney infection. After waiting for her to "get out of the woods", we devised a plan so that we could take our trip without stressing K. We did a "tag team" approach, where the Runner and R would go for a trail run each morning while I took K for a stroll near camp.

 

When the runners returned to camp, they'd hang out with K in the shade while I went for a mountain bike ride.

I kept running into walls of snow blocking the trails on my alpine mountain biking adventures.

The photo above shows a very small wall of snow that I managed to clamber across. Some of the walls were 50' tall with cornices overhanging their edges. This trail is almost always open, free of snow, by late June or early July. Not this year...

I didn't even try to climb the wall shown the photo above, even though my favorite section of mountain bike trail on Earth was on the other side of it. I saw a mountain biker approach the snowbank from the other direction. He tried to carry his bike down it, slipped, and slid at high speed down into the rocks below the snow. He was very lucky that he was okay.

I knew that my fragile spine would not survive a fall like that one so I contented myself with enjoying the flowers sprouting at the edge of the melting snow.

Old Men of the Mountain...

Alpine Avens...

At one snowfield, a marmot played a funny trick on me. A family of these highly social rodents had been playing on the snowfield when I barged onto the scene. Four of them clambered up a rocky hillside and disappeared into their den. One marmot stayed behind, lying stationary in the snow.

I cautiously inched closer to him, hoping that he'd stir and show me that he was alive and well. He didn't. However, I noticed that he was blinking his eyes, and then I saw the rise and fall of his chest.

I sadly thought that he was probably very sick and dying. So, I turned my back and walked away so I wouldn't stress him out. A good distance away, I took some photos of wildflowers. Then, I heard the shrill whistle of a marmot. I looked back at the snowfield, and the "dying" marmot was gone. Then, I spotted him standing on his hind legs on a boulder whistling at me. After catching my attention, he sprinted up the hill and into his den. I imagined the whole marmot family laughing at the naive human whom he'd tricked!

After my bike ride, I returned to laze around camp with the pack.

The sun shined so brightly that the Duo needed caps! R donned his "Black Dog Tavern" cap and K donned her "Chocolate" cap.

Yellow flowers painted the meadow surrounding our campsite golden. The bumblebees buzzed from one blossom to the next, sipping sweet nectar.

And, we finished our day with a short hike as a foursome in the cool evening air. Ah, I'll never tire of this view.

Several of you have kindly inquired about whether my internet connection has been fixed. It's been sort of fixed. It works sporadically for downloading but not at all for uploading. So, I'm still imposing on friends, libraries, and coffee shops whenever I need to upload anything substantial. I sure hope that it gets solved soon but I'm getting pessimistic that we may be forced to go for satellite internet.

A victory and a journey

I want to use this post to tell you more about our trip to the San Juan Mountains. However, first, I want to share a small victory. Prior to the theft of my trail cameras last weekend, I caught hints that something fishy was going on in that section of forest - perhaps even criminal activity. Consequently, I removed one camera, and it wasn't stolen. In retrospect, I should have moved all my cameras but the area is where lions and bears like to hang out. I didn't want to miss any wildlife action so I ended up losing two cameras - a lesson learned the hard way.

Here's the victory part. When I moved the one camera, I took it to the deepest and secretest part of our forest where I'd noticed a well-worn animal trail previously. Believe me, *no one* will find my camera in the new spot. In a single day, I captured photos of a mule deer doe with one spotted fawn, and another one with spotted fawn twins. Wow - that's the fastest that I've ever had success at a new camera site! I'll share the footage as soon as I have time to put together a video. I'm very curious to see how long it will be until mountain lion or bear passes the camera. Scat, tracks, and other signs indicate that both pass through at least occasionally.

So, my spirits are resurrected. I may not have many cameras but I'm doing pretty well with what remains. I also didn't lose my cameras close to the house - criminals are smart enough not to use power tools to cut locks within hearing distance of a house. Last night, a camera captured a coyote trotting away from my house - a canine on a mission.
Now, I'll transition to a story from our San Juan Mountain vacation.

Partway through our recent trip, I did a long solo journey on my mountain bike to meet the pack at a faraway and remote campsite. With some trepidation, I set out under endless blue skies, warm air, and soft sun. At the outset, I felt some fear, like I always do when I'm heading out into the lonesome wilderness with many miles between me and help. This fear is fairly new for me - it emerged after doctors started warning me about how easily I could hurt my spine. Yet, I refuse to give up the adventures that I love so much.

As I felt those tiny butterflies in my stomach, I pondered why I take on these adventures. I concluded that I love finding my limits, both physically and mentally. It's an amazing feeling to be in the middle of nowhere, having seen no one for hours, and be successfully negotiating tough mountainous trails. I also like defying the odds. Doing these rides despite my fragile spine makes me feel like my disease hasn't stolen everything. "Defy" is one of my favorite words.

On that day, my path was longer than expected but easily within my capabilities because I've trained hard this year. After about an hour of riding, I looked over my shoulder at the miles that I'd traveled. My trail had paralleled the rusty and rocky ridge, just above the trees, for many miles.
Then, I looked forward and saw that the trail dropped into a mountain paradise - a lush basin filled with wildflowers. Scarlet Paintbrush gave the grass a rosy hue.The pencil-thin trail headed out of the basin and toward open tundra.
A symphony of colors met me as I pedaled out of the basin.
On the open tundra, I met a glossy-furred marmot named Marvin who seemed completely at ease with having me just a few feet away. He watched me but basked in the sun at the same time.
I stood next to his boulder for a few minutes enjoying the endless view of mountain peaks and thinking about how many future adventures beckoned from the mountains surrounding me. I looked back at the boulder, and Marvin still lay relaxed in the same spot. Maybe he liked the view too!
After crossing the tundra and an almost 13,000' mountain pass, I descended into a deep and dark forest winding around raging creeks tumbling out of the mountains above me. The water roiled and fell with a ferocity that's rare for so late in the summer.
Another waterfall gushed less vigorously among what looked almost like cobblestone cliffs with many layers of the Earth's history exposed for me to see.
Between the rushing creeks, I navigated below huge cliffs with glorious wildflowers adorning them.
This section was mildly spooky because so many rocks and cliffs towered over me. My imagination conjured lions poised to pounce on me from above. Moreover, the riding was tough with many "rock gardens" poised to bounce me off my bike. However, I was at least 10 miles from civilization and enjoying the utter solitude. Occasionally, I glimpsed an expansive view through a gap in the suffocating cliffs.
After several hours on the trail, I began to realize that the ride was taking far longer than I'd anticipated. I mentally whipped myself, wondering why I was so darn slow. I decided to take no more photo stops and pedal steadily toward camp. I looked at my GPS - although the route description said it would involve 3000' of climbing, I'd already climbed 4000'. Huh? I had brief visions of my day lost in the San Juan's last year before banishing them from my head. I knew that I was on the right route.

I kept pedaling and actually caught and passed a trio of guys riding the same route, the first people that I'd seen in several hours. We chatted and they expressed surprise about how hard the ride was. It had already taken them an hour longer than expected. We commiserated and continued at our own paces. To my utter surprise, my pace was faster than theirs. I kept listening for them to ride up to my wheel from behind but it didn't happen. I guess that I'm stronger than I thought that I was.

Just about then, I rounded a curve and caught my first glimpse of a view that I knew signaled that I was closing in on our campsite.
When I finally rolled into our remote camp, I was awed. The view was about 270 degrees of the horizon and encompassed absolutely gorgeous mountains. Sunlight bathed our campsite almost all day so it was warm and inviting despite being over 11,000' in elevation.
We lolled around in camp, basking in the sun like my marmot friend from earlier in the day. I wished that the day would last forever. When the sun finally sunk toward the horizon, I photographed my chocolate friend while scheming about the adventure that she and I would have the next day. I had a very fun mountain bike ride and canine swim planned for us!

On a mountaintop

Yesterday, we climbed to the top of a Rocky Mountain, enjoying the pure air, astounding flowers, loud marmots, and views of peaks a hundred miles away.

On the lower slopes of our climb, the columbines still sang their summer song, covering entire hillsides in their pale blue and white hue.
Next to the boulder-strewn trail that led to our peak, flowers somehow eked out an existence, painting the landscape green, yellow, and white. Our peak loomed high above us.
Alpine Avens dotted the ground next to the trail at this elevation.
After more hard climbing the pyramidal peak looked almost impossible to scale and the trail appeared to drop off the other side of the saddle that we approached.
Once we reached that saddle, a view of the largest Colorado glacier met us with its lakes like turquoise jewels in the talus.
K looked happy and care-free.
R enjoyed the view and sampled the wind with his tongue.
As we lingered in that last flat spot prior to starting the hard part of the climb, we noticed a marmot gazing at the same view.
The climb challenged me. The footing was precarious with huge boulders and small rocks plus a sheer drop-off toward the glacier and its lakes on one side.
At about the point when dropoff got too close and the upward view looked like this, I tremulously said that the climb was getting too precarious for me.
The eager looks on the pups' faces were my motivation - I would climb this mountain!
Of course, R reached the peak first and propped himself to tower over us, well over 13,000'! Notice the "Devil's Gargoyles" jutting up from the knife-like ridge behind him.
The peak was calm and warm - a rare ambiance for such a rugged point. K balanced atop the world.
And gazed into the distance.
She posed with the compass pointing to other peaks, nearby and faraway, in Colorado. This plate was placed atop the mountain in 1928!
Even in the fierce environment on top of a Rocky Mountain, Alpine Spring Beauties flowered in the crevices.
On our way down, the big yellow faces of Old Men of the Mountain turned to the east, away from the late afternoon sun.
Marmots, huge rodents that weigh up to about 10 lbs, seemed to pop up from every boulder, whistling warning calls to their colonies. One colony's lookout guard appears in the middle of the photo below.
Our best sighting was when we spotted two adult marmots with a quartet of pups. Two of the pups briefly played while their guardians watched. One guardian was probably their mother, and the other might have been their father or another adult from the colony. These pups probably emerged from the den very recently and will stay with their colony until they're about 2 years old. Then, some of them will disperse to other colonies to breed. A colony usually consists of a male, several breeding females, yearlings, and young.
As we descended, a shimmering vision of the lake that the Duo swam in on our last alpine hike appeared - a truly magical sight.