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!

Warm Labs

Thanks for all of your kind comments yesterday. I'm calming down, and your comments reminded me that there are more good people on this Earth than bad.

And, thank goodness for the Duo who brighten every day, shown here watching the Perseid meteor showers and listening to the coyote chorus from the warmth of a sleeping bag.

Bears are more trustworthy than humans

I'm taking a break from today's planned post because I'm angry. I've had several malicious acts against me this summer and another one today. I'm afraid that my visibility on this blog might be part of the problem but I can't be certain... it could be pure coincidence. However, these events have me left me pondering the evil side of human nature.

Believe me, I know that the overwhelming majority of my readers are good-hearted, generous, and trustworthy so please don't take my anger personally. I've thoroughly enjoyed getting to know the wonderful group of regular readers and commenters.

For today, I'm including a video of a bear "examining" a wildlife camera by licking and sniffing it (but not stealing it) and then passing other cameras. Last night, these cameras (that were securely locked to trees) were stolen, along with another chunk of my trust in humans. I trust the bears and mountain lions that walked by my cameras more than I trust some people. Enjoy the wildlife video, for it may be the last.



I ran across a quote that feels very relevant since giving up is always the easiest route: "Difficulty is the excuse history never accepts." Edward R. Murrow. Murrow was a hero, in my opinion, fighting against all odds and risking everything to follow his convictions.

Spectacular campsite

The next leg of our trip was a trifle scary for me, a point-to-point long ride to meet the pack at a remote campsite. Last year, a plan like this one went dreadfully awry. Tomorrow, I'll tell you about my adventure as I pedaled through the wilderness. For today, here are a few snippets.

Near the middle of my journey, more than 10 miles from anything resembling a road, I passed through a series of creeks and waterfalls. Wildflowers, including Columbines, abounded. I dropped my bike and soaked up the beauty.
Butterflies did the dance of life in this nectar-laden paradise.
After a long and hard ride, I met the pack at our truly spectacular campsite with a view of the mountains that awed us all. The Duo sat in the sunset light with part of the panorama behind them.
While lounging in our campsite that night, we watched fiery meteors burn up in the Earth's atmosphere leaving white hot tails in the sky. What a show!

Climbing through the San Juans and the terrifying R

After a night sleeping in a lush, moist, and verdant basin, we awakened to more rain pattering on the van's roof. Yet again, we hung out in the van waiting for a break in the aerial assault before heading out for our adventures. R chose an acrobatic pose for eating his breakfast. Isn't it uphill to the stomach in that position? Our boy makes me laugh every single day.
I decided to ride on jeep roads that day because they'd let me access alpine passes that I'd otherwise never see. From my first pedal stroke, the road pitched up toward the sky. Fortunately, I love climbing mountains on my bike. In fact, I must confess that I love going uphill better than going downhill. After my sleepy muscles woke up, I settled into a steady pedaling rhythm to slowly ascend toward the first mountain pass.

The weather still looked threatening, to put it mildly. However, I adored the clanging contrast of the ominous skies with the late-summer mountain meadows.
The view from the pass was amazing.
Very few jeeps were on the roads yet but one friendly driver insisted on taking my photo next to the sign for the pass.
I didn't linger for long on the windswept and cold pass. I hopped back on my bike and started the spine-rattling descent before Raynaud's Syndrome could take possession of my fingers. After a very brief and fast flight downward, I hit bottom and was climbing again. At the start of the next climb, I saw two classic Colorado sights. The first was a mine, still being worked by a crew of men using shovels. I thought that we'd left the environmental disaster of searching every mountainside for precious metals behind us. My thoughts were bolstered by the chalk white creek flowing below the mine - the chalk color was a sign of cadmium, a mining by-product, poisoning the water. This poison hurts birds by preventing them from producing sufficiently thick shells to protect their embryos. (Zoom in to see the men working near the middle of the photo)
Then, less than a mile further along, hundreds of sheep dotted the green mountainside. Sheep grazing on public lands was a driving force in the extermination of wolves and grizzly bears from Colorado.
I put those sights behind me as the climb grew steeper and rougher.
Very few motorized vehicles attempted this ascent but one put a smile on my face. As a blue jeep passed me, the cowboy driver slowed (yes, we have real cowboys out here), pointed his index finger directly at me and said, "You are the toughest mofo out here"! When I told the Runner about this encounter, he reminded me that the jeep driver didn't even know that about 6 months earlier, I'd had to cajole a nurse to allow me to walk half the length of a hospital corridor. And, she allowed it only with the stipulation that the Runner push my IV cart for me. The body's ability to heal itself is astounding.

As I neared the next pass, an endless green meadow with three watery jewels in the middle stretched out beside me.
When I reached the pass, I felt like I'd ascended to the tippy top of the world. I gazed out across an ocean of mountain peaks.
Then, I turned the corner and was faced with this!
I thought to myself "No, it simply isn't possible that *anyone* could go up that mountain". It turned out that the sketchy trail up the mountain was too unstable for me to ride it so I turned back. Looking at the photo, I think that it's kind of funny that I even tried.

After hail started falling, I realized that it was time to turn toward my rendezvous point with the rest of the pack. Before descending, I scanned the panorama.

And then focused on gorgeous spots within it.
As I descended, I stopped to enjoy a slope laden with wildflowers.
And then, when I was almost on the valley floor, I looked back at what I had climbed. Whew, the view made me tired.
Finally, a quick question provoked by today's canine adventure. Exactly how terrifying does R look whilst wearing a muzzle?
A woman took one look at him and started screaming hysterically like she was being attacked by a mountain lion. I am not kidding. He doesn't look *that* terrifying to me.

You may wonder why a peaceable dog like R is wearing a muzzle. It's to prevent him from eating shrooms - I have an addict on my hands. Fortunately, K completed her 12-step program last year and can now run muzzle-free in mushroom season.

If I can make my computer behave, I shall include bear video and photos very very soon.

Tranquility

The memories of tranquil moments in the mountains carried me through a hectic day. We went to the vet today - no news on our dogs' pancreatitis and UTI yet - but we saw lots of other crises unfolding. I think that being a vet must be one of the hardest jobs in the world on some days. It made me give my dogs a hug and thank goodness that their issues are curable.

Today, visions from the mountains danced through my head. On our recent trip, we headed straight for the San Juan Mountains after our brief stay near my mountain biking nirvana. Along the way, we saw a bear cub, born last winter, lope across the road to catch up with her mom who had already disappeared into a towering aspen grove. The cub was a miniature black creature who looked cute but determined. I wished her well and hoped that she'd live to raise her own cubs someday.

At our first campsite above Lake City, harebells nodded in the evening light.
The next morning, K and I had our first 'adventure' together, exploring a section of the Colorado trail that led high up onto a plateau near the Continental Divide.
I pedaled and K ran through lush green grass, Rocky Mountain rocks, wildflowers, and looming storms. The storms eventually led us to flee down the mountain to safety. The storm clouds behind the rust mountains painted a dramatic picture.
Last summer, K and I had a long and arduous day when we got lost on the Colorado Trail because I didn't know that it had been re-routed. During our ride on this day, some prankster had put up a fake Colorado Trail triangle and even constructed a misleading tall cairn of rocks. Fortunately, I had the route firmly painted in my mind (plus a good map and GPS unit in my backpack) so I didn't fall for the tricks. I wonder what would lead someone to maliciously try to lead people astray?

After our wonderful ride, we drove toward Silverton, stopping to camp in a lush green basin below a 14,000' peak.
We reveled in the still-blossoming Columbines and the whistles of marmots as we hiked up the basin. I felt lucky to be alive and in paradise.

Wildlife action plus more mountain trip photos

While I was away, the action was thick and furious at one of my wildlife cameras. I'll show you, chronologically, the animals who passed the camera over that time.

First, Mama Mule Deer led her fawn across a wildlife trail. We've seen this pair in this exact spot before.
Uh oh, where did Mom go?
An alarmed looking young buck crossed the trail. I believe that this is the buck who used to travel with an older buck who carried a big velvet rack of antlers. The older buck disappeared on the day that a mountain lion passed this spot. I'd say that the youngster has good reason to be wary.
In fact, a hulking strong bear was in the vicinity. I suspect that this boar is the one who I've dubbed "Scarface". He visited the den soon after my favorite sow and her yearlings departed.
This bear visited every one of my wildlife cameras posted over a large radius in the forest over the course of a few days. My cameras are currently focused on bear "hot spots" so I don't think that he tracked me but that he simply visited all the hot spots.

The boar closely investigated each camera. Here, he knocked the camera to the side, leading to wavy-looking trees.
After the ursine examination, the camera almost righted itself so it remained useful while we were gone.
Later, he mauled another camera, leaving it pointing in a ridiculous direction. I have funny video from that "ursine investigation" that I'll post soon.

A few days later in the same spot, the spotted fawn sped across the corridor so fast that he looked like he had streaked fur!
It took 15 minutes for the fawn's mother to appear in the camera's view. She stood, sniffed, looked around, walked slowly back and forth, and eventually followed the path of the fawn. I hope that they found each other again.
Finally, the young buck warily walked through the intersection again.
Someone asked me how I get the animals to come into the view of my cameras. They thought that I put out food bait to attract them. In fact, I do no such thing. I've spent a ton of time in the forest over the years, carefully looking for signs of animal activity. I make educated guesses about what species left the signs and then put up a camera to find out the real answer.

Based on animal signs, I expected mainly black bears and mountain lions plus an occasional mule deer to appear on this camera. While both have appeared, deer are the most numerous species who use this "game trail". I learn something new every single day.

While the animals at home busily went about their business, I enjoyed euphoric mountain biking high above treeline. The weather made timing my rides dicey. We awakened to rain on our first couple of mornings and waited in the van for a break in the drenching. K cuddled in the sleeping bags with only her chocolate head exposed.
R impatiently gazed out the window thinking "rain, rain, go away".
Once the rain abated, K and I headed out for a ride, enjoying the mystical sight of clouds floating around us rather than over us.
The trail that I rode that day, called the Monarch Crest Trail, is simply ecstasy on a bike. Expansive views spread in every direction and the smooth trail undulates along the Continental Divide. On a weekday, it's not too crowded, and I can relax into an easy rhythm of pedaling at 11-12,000'!

On the day that I rode it last week, the dark clouds seemed to envelope the alpine world. Fortunately, it was too early in the morning for lightning, for I am not yet ready to die, even if it is while riding my favorite trail. There are too many wild places left to explore, both literally and figuratively.

When I reluctantly turned back toward camp, the mountain that guards over our meadow appeared on the horizon leading the way.
The reddish mountain glowed in the sunset that night.
As I watched the sunset, I pondered why visiting these mountain oases is so important to me. I realized that just knowing that such peaceful and wild places exist makes my soul sing and gives me a calm confidence about my life. At times of stress like while I waited on a gurney before my spine surgery in January, visions of my favorite meadow washed over me, reminding me that the peace of the natural world awaited me when I was ready to return. I'm so happy and relieved that I was able to return this summer.