Storms: outside and inside

An uninvited guest arrived last night to forage under our bird feeders - a raccoon. We almost never see raccoons at our elevation so the appearance of his masked visage and striped tail surprised me.The raccoon first showed up at about 1:40 AM but he turned his rump toward the camera. He stayed for almost 15 minutes, and then fled when our coyote trotted into the picture. The coyote stayed by our feeders for less than 30 seconds but the raccoon waited a couple of hours to return. I bet that raccoons are very wary of the predatory coyotes.The appearance of the raccoon raises a dilemma. We've chosen not to vaccinate for leptospirosis, which is carried by raccoons, due to the scarcity of raccoons around here. Moreover, many years ago, one of our dogs who was vaccinated against leptospirosis contracted a strain that was not included in the vaccine. So, we know how awful the disease is but we also know that the vaccine isn't foolproof. I'm presently mulling over whether to get K and R vaccinated soon. Here, you can see that, this morning, the intriguing scents drew K directly to the spot visited by the raccoon and coyote.
This morning dawned cloudy with the promise of more drama-filled storms.
K and I rolled through the forest, mellowly enjoying each other. She stuck close by my side, and her ears blew back in the wind as she trotted easily.
Near the end of our ride, we met a neighbor running with her seven dogs, five of whom are very small dogs. Some days, K will play with the tiny canines, but today, she wasn't interested even when one prostrated himself before her. She's usually so deferential around unfamiliar dogs that she doesn't know what to do when one is so obsequious.
As I chatted with the neighbor, we complained about the stormy weather that's hounded us for weeks. Then, I had to laugh when I took note of the view that was just behind our shoulders! What are we complaining about?
When I stopped at home to drop off K, she started showing signs of a tick bite - wheezing, upset tummy, and one small hive. Over the past weeks, it's become clear that K's tick allergy is very dangerous, and might even be deadly if it's not stopped. After balancing the trade-off of her tick allergy and the toxins in a tick collar, I decided to have her wear a collar. A problem is that the collar, and other forms of tick control, work by getting the tick toxin into the dog's bloodstream. So, K has to endure a brief bite and a (hopefully) small reaction before the toxin makes the tick fall off. So far today, the reaction seems to be dissipating without escalating to its full fury. But, we've been keeping a close eye on her so we can act right away if her face swells up.

My husband watched her while I did a fast and exciting ride. Storms nipped at my heels for the entire ride, with thunder first rumbling to the east and then, a little later, to the west. On top of the threatening storms, I had a mechanical problem that took some time to fix, and I was running behind schedule for getting back to watch K. The result was, by far, the most high intensity ride that I've done in quite a while. My body seemed ready for it.

As the thunder rumbled, I saw the same mountain as K and I gazed at early this morning (first mountain photo above) through a forest of pines. By this point, it looked like a different peak due to the dark clouds enshrouding it. The Golden Banner wildflowers almost glow in the foreground due to the dark ambience.
As I pedaled furiously through an aspen grove, the wind picked up and cold rain spritzed me. The aspens rustled, or 'quaked', in the stiff breeze. I realized that I associate quaking aspens with the onset of a big storm. Indeed, just over the treetops, I spotted another mountain that I'd photographed earlier in the morning, now looking haunted with clouds.I beat the storm, just barely, which seems to be the story of the past two weeks. As for storms, K's internal stormy battle against the tick seems to be winding down, which is good news. But, I'm rooting for dry weather so that tick season ends, like usual, early in the summer. I'll breath a big sigh of relief when the ticks disappear.

Every ending is a new beginning

The title of this post was what my brother said to me just after S died. I wasn't ready to realize the truth and hopefulness in his message. I'm starting to understand now.For the past year, I felt very protective of S, as he became frail, old, and finally sick. R, the rambunctious puppy and then teenager, knocked him around, mostly good-heartedly, but I sometimes felt angry at R for not being gentle with S.

Now, although I still choke up when I realize that it's forever, S is no longer physically here. To my surprise, I find that I'm looking at R with new eyes. I'm no longer focused on preventing him from hurting S so I'm free to see R as the carefree and loving spirit that he is. My little brother was right - every ending is a new beginning.All week long, I took both K and R mountain biking with me, and although R's high voltage style frazzled me, I reveled in his youth and naivete. Sure, he'll be easier to control when he grows up (if that ever happens) - but for now, he's a wild spirit (albeit a mostly obedient one). Moreover, I now see the soft puppy vulnerability hovering in his eyes.

Yesterday, our foursome visited our friends, who have an incredibly handsome chocolate lab, JB. R played with JB almost continuously. I watched R with new eyes. Here's the start of a play sequence.Now, it looks like JB scared R, and R is telling him to back off.JB, the gentle soul, licked R on the chin to apologize.Finally, JB left R to rest, but the little tongue flick by R is a signal that nervousness still coursed through his veins.After a brief rest, R lost his momentary worry and play resumed. I see, now more than a month ago, that R is still a vulnerable puppy soul.

Today, my K and I rolled silently through the forest on soft pine-needle carpeted trails. It felt sweet and relaxing to ride with my chocolate friend as my sole companion. The sounds of birds, busy with building nests, incubating eggs, and raising young, met us from the first pedal stroke. To exit the basement, we pass under a nest tray, with a recently completed cup nest, constructed by a pair of Cordilleran Flycatchers. Each year, they slowly learn to trust us over the summer. For now, the pair still calls warnings when we emerge from the house.As we approached our favorite vista, K sniffed while she waited for me. It's ridiculous how much faster a fit dog can run uphill than a fit human. The mountains had crystal clear blue sky behind them giving no clue of stormy energy building.
Later, we silently rolled through an aspen grove, with K slightly ahead of me. I've trained her to go either ahead or behind me, depending on which I request. It makes it possible for us to safely negotiate trails where there are other mountain bikers. I ask her to go ahead when we go downhill so that I form a rolling blockade to protect her from faster bikers overtaking us from behind. I ask her to go behind me when we go uphill so I'm between her and riders blasting downhill toward. Today, we didn't see another person.In the aspen grove, the green ocean was punctuated by clusters of slender red plants with tiny white blossoms. The dense clusters contained Spotted Coralroot (Corallorhiza maculata), a member of the orchid family.These plants have no green, and no chlorophyll for photosynthesis. They're saprophytic - meaning that they survive from the energy produced by fungi that digest the dead organic stuff on the forest floor. Our daily storms have led to an explosion in the number of these plants. Usually, I spot a few plants per year but, this year, clusters are popping up everywhere. Notice how similar the flowers are to the Fairy Slippers, another orchid, that I posted about this spring.
After dropping off K, I pedaled solo through fields of wildflowers. In the photo below, sprawling patches of Western Blue Flag (Iris missouriensis) tinted the entire field purplish.
I laboriously hauled myself up to a high ridge where I ran into two pairs of hikers with very friendly dogs. We chatted - for too long - because they are super nice mountain neighbors. I finally pulled myself away to a sight that struck me with fear.Time to sprint for home and avoid getting struck by lightning. It never ceases to amaze me how completely the mountains metamorphose from idyllic peaceful peaks (like the first mountain photo in this post) to looming stormy giants.

Saturdays are for getting lost

Unlike yesterday morning, no bears visited today. I love seeing bears but it's good news that he doesn't think that further diligent exploration will yield food from our birdfeeders. However, we have new, ingenious, bear-proof garbage cans that I suspect that the bear will investigate at least once before abandoning our territory for the season.

This morning, our foursome, two humans and two dogs, started with a hybrid bike and run, on a trail that's so sinuous, with sharp hairpin turns through rock gardens, that running it is probably faster than riding it. The trail wends through a pine forest punctuated by a few moist meadows and gulches. It has more views to the east than any other direction.But, we occasionally saw a towering craggy peak, with couloirs still laden with snow, to the southwest.
When I rolled off to ride solo, I continued my quest to get to know the nooks and crannies of our woods by exploring a new part of our pine forest. I tried to follow an almost nonexistent path that faded away numerous times during my exploration. I decided to explore uncharted territory today because I dislike riding mapped trails on the weekends with the swarms of people visiting from the city. So, I've dubbed Saturday as my day for getting lost. I succeeded today.

Someone has been working on the faint path that I followed and constructed an amusing stick tunnel.The master trail-builder also used a unique trail marker, an elk pelvis and spine, which he balanced upright, pretending that it was a human spine.Most of the trail winds along a tortuous path through dense pine forest, with trees so closely spaced that my handlebars barely scrape between them. This habitat doesn't support many wildflowers. But, the golden yellow Heart-leaved Arnica (Arnica cordifolia) flowers flourished in the deep forest and stood out like jewels in the darkness.Arnica is a 'composite flower' combining outer 'ray' flowers and inner 'disk' flowers. If you look closely, the inner disk flowers look like a sea of miniaturized classic flowers.From the side, the pistils of the inner disk flowers, which need pollen deposited in them by insects or birds for a seed to develop, protrude like golden spikes.As I spun along after investigating the sun-bathed Arnica, the trail occasionally emerged into meadows where lush shrubs and trees lined small streams. From the meadows, I could see the mountains, providing this easily lost mountain biker with a point of reference. I have no sense of direction so I always imagine the headline "Local mountain biker lost and starves to death within a mile of her home". Imagine how embarrassing that would be! Thank goodness for our towering mountains that keep me vaguely oriented.
I also climbed a few boulder piles to peek at the mountains which never cease to be gorgeous to me.
Late in the ride, I found a new trail. Woo hoo, I thought, yet another new trail! But, somehow, it led me back to the trail that I'd taken into the forest. I still don't understand how. Another reconnaissance mission is needed. Maybe next Saturday. I feel fortunate to live someplace where the forests are so vast that I still get lost in them.

On my way home, I swooped along a west-facing trail with storms rumbling over the oh-so-close Divide. I hammered hard on my pedals to win the race home but stopped for a quick photo when the tumultuous atmosphere tinged the mountain snow rosy. The mountains undergo numerous transformations from minute-to-minute, day-to-day, and season-to-season. They wear so many faces that I never grow weary of gazing at them.I'm so lucky to live here, and I won't forget it.

Be Bearful

Half awake, I sleepily sipped my coffee, watching the bird feeders. A large brown form emerged from the aspen grove behind our house, ambling lazily toward our bird feeding station. He shuffled in front of our wildlife camera, triggering it to take a photo. He was so close that you can see the texture of his thick and downy fur. He's also fat, very fat, and looks incredibly healthy for a bear in early summer. Bears keep losing weight until July, according to my books. The berries and nuts aren't out yet, and the bears don't have the overwhelming urge to gorge themselves like they have in late summer.
I noticed him shortly after the camera took his photo. I wasn't worried about him getting anything to eat. Our bear-proof bird feeding station has withstood five years of bears trying many ingenious techniques to reach the seed and suet.

He lumbered directly to the base of the feeders, and made a half-hearted attempt to reach the good-smelling food. In the photo below which I took through the window, the feeders hang from horizontal bars that tower 6' higher than the bear's paws. He is a tall bear. I'm 5'2", and he can reach slightly higher than I can. He stayed less than 30 seconds today. I know how brief his visit was because the wildlife camera takes a photo every 30 seconds while there's movement in its field. It took only one photo.
Based on how easily he gave up, I think that he's visited here before. In fact, I wonder if he isn't the same bear that visited on exactly the same date in 2005.
The bear who visited in 2005 was much smaller. Perhaps he was a yearling then. He spent more than five minutes exploring every option to reach our feeders, including climbing a nearby tree. He was unsuccessful.
You also can see that the 2005 bear didn't have an ear tag. The ear tag in today's bear was very bad news to me. It means that he has one strike against him for behaving badly around humans - probably getting into garbage or breaking into a car containing food. I believe that the tag means that he'll be destroyed if he gets another strike. Please, if you live in bear country, don't leave garbage unsecured, bird feeders accessible, or your car doors unlocked. That last one might seem odd but almost every vehicle that contains at least faint food odors. Bears learn to open car doors but, if the door closes behind them, they freak out and destroy the inside of the vehicle.

The bear put a crimp in my plans for the day because I didn't want to take the dogs onto the trails knowing that the bear was nearby. So, I delayed for quite a while before venturing out. When we finally went out, the dogs initially freaked out, snarling and barking while starting to follow the bear's trail. But, they both returned, on a dime, when I called them. We practiced more recalls next to the bear's trail to teach them that they should heed me even when strong bear scent permeates the area. We didn't see the bear on our ride.

To avoid the bear, I headed away from our trail system right away, and we stopped at a different vista from usual, atop a boulder outcropping. It gives a unique view of our peaks.
K looked dainty as she hopped from boulder to boulder.
R looked stunningly handsome with the snowy peaks behind his jet black fur.
After dropping off the Lab pair, I visited our earliest blooming Columbine patch, and the delicate beauty that I noticed yesterday had opened to the sun. I love Columbines!
Although it felt like I was dodging storm cells throughout the whole ride, the mountains were shining by the end of my ride.
It's only mid-June, and I've already seen as many bears as I usually encounter over an entire season. I find each sighting to be amazing and captivating. I love living in the midst of wildlife, even if I have to delay my bike ride to accommodate them:). But, I have to admit that I was disturbed by the ear tag on today's ursine visitor because it's usually the fault of people who inadvertently leave accessible food outside, thereby making the bear associate human habitat with available food. I hope that we humans can help keep him safe so he lives a long life. So, be careful around bears ('bearful')!

Stormy energy and no bears!

Yesterday evening, my Lab duo and I hiked up to our sunset lookout point. Storm clouds painted a psychedelic picture, and R hopped out to a rocky promontory to pick up the scents wafting from below.Our sunset lookout will always be a special place for remembering our evening hikes with S. Last night, I lost myself in a memory from this spring. About a month ago, I stooped down to examine a newly blooming flower (Astragalus shortianus, 'Milk vetch' or 'Early purple vetch'). S, like any self-respecting Labrador, assumed that anything so captivating must be edible. I had to stop him from snarfing the purple blossoms. The memory makes me smile but I'm sad that the plant will stop blooming soon. The little purple flowers make me feel closer to S.During our sunset hikes, our teenage Labrador, R, often loses himself in frenzied digging - usually focused on a rodent tunnel. Recently, his digging style has evolved. Now, it's 'Rotodigging'. He always rotates counterclockwise while tossing dirt and sticking his snout deeper into the hole. He'd keep digging and rotating for hours if we didn't pull him away. It makes us humans laugh. Does anyone else's dog use this digging style? Do you think that he'd turn clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere?



This morning, as I rolled my bike out the door, the two Labs acted as if a dangerous creature had visited recently. They stormed around the perimeter of the house, barking and growling. Then, as we rolled off our property, R came remarkably close to snagging a tree squirrel. Our wildlife camera captured this photo - it's a motion-activated camera.
Yet again, the day dawned stormy, with dark clouds drifting over, among, and within the mountain peaks. This instant was one of the few times today that I could identify individual peaks and see blue above them.I rolled along easily, hoping to let my legs recover from yesterday's marathon, but R had another agenda. High amperage energy possessed his body, leading him to sprint one way and then another, constantly worrying me that he was on the trail of a wild animal. K, usually the sensible one, followed his lead. Thank goodness that I ride on trails where I rarely see another soul. I felt like I teetered on the edge of losing control of the duo. We did about a million recalls, and, to my relief, even the wild adolescent, R, U-turned and sprinted to me when I called. Days like today make me happy that I've spent countless hours practicing recalls with the pups. But, their sizzling energy stressed me out, and I finally took them home early.

Contrary to R taking the lead in the forest today, K has been reasserting herself at home. She's a quiet and firm leader for R so I'm glad that she's rebounding from S's death to play her role again. Moreover, having a fickle teenager like R as the pack leader might create constant chaos!

After leaving the Labs snoozing at home, I finally rode truly mellowly.My mellowness was briefly interrupted by finding a fresh mountain lion scat fairly close to home but I didn't let the huge predator's sign obsess me. I always try to be alert for lions, and I've spent a good bit of time studying their habits to help me be safer. So, there was no point in letting it take over my ride today.

Gorgeous nascent flowers lined the narrow trails. A Colorado Columbine (Aquilegia coerulea), almost open, brought me to a halt. Colorado Columbines are, by far, my favorite flowers - so delicate and balanced on a long slender stem - that it's unbelievable that they survive harsh mountain storms.
The purple petal-like structures are actually sepals and not true petals. The spurs, trailing behind the flower, are part of the white petals currently nestled inside the flower. The petals cradle the yellow anthers and pistil.
Then, as I rolled through a meadow with several inches of standing water from our pluvial weather, a bright purple flower flashed among the sea of green grass. It's a Shooting Star (Dodecatheon pulchellum), a tiny nodding blossom, that only flowers when plentiful rain turns the meadow into a bog. It's an oddly shaped flower, with five fused pollen-producing anthers hanging below the upward pointing petals. In most flowers, the anthers sit cradled in the middle of the petals.
Near the end of the ride, storms closed in from all sides, and I arrived home just as the rain started. Unlike the past couple of days, I didn't see a single bear today although I watched for them all the time.
The rain, coupled with the huge snowstorm in late April, is giving us the gift of fields of wildflowers. But, I have to admit, I'm ready for sunny summer days when I can sit comfortably on my deck and can ride my bike in shorts with no jacket. Maybe summer will arrive soon? Please?

Finally, many thanks to The Watcher for helping with the identification of the odd flower that I saw yesterday. It is Western Clematis (Clematis occidentalis), also known as the Western Blue Virginsbower. The Watcher is a botany expert, unlike me, so it's worth checking out his blog if you love flowers. Also, thanks to Roxanne and Dog_Geek, for identifying the lilac bush two days ago. I'm learning so much from all of you (but it's a little embarrassing that I didn't know a Lilac Bush when I saw one)!