Wintery Wednesday

No outdoor riding for me today. The skies opened and dumped a deep layer of snow onto our world. Our deck, visible from our bed, looked surreal this morning, with snow reaching the height of our table and deck railings.
The pristine snow looked beautiful. I visualized the Pasqueflowers (wild crocuses) that are stirring under the meadow's rich soil. Very soon, they'll poke their heads out of the dirt in the warm days between snow storms. Amazingly, they'll survive being buried in our next snowstorm to bloom again after the a big melt. Believe it or not, this meadow will be dotted with Pasqueflowers and green grass in the respite between storms very soon.
R and K love romping in this meadow, and it's a favorite site for me to practice recalls. Here, the two of them sprinted like freight trains to me today. First K.
And then R.
As I rewarded them for their recalls, R began meditating. Ohmmmm.
We explored the snowy landscape but saw almost no signs of animal activity. I think that every living being found a protected spot and slept through the storm last night. K checked the boulder outcroppings but no scents or tracks showed up.
We did see birds. Funny, yesterday morning before the storm, we saw our first spring bird, a Cassin's Finch, on our feeder. It's been so long since we've seen a non-winter bird here that I couldn't find the binoculars to look at him! However, I suspect that he fled as the storm moved in.

Today on our hike, a white breasted Nuthatch worked diligently finding food under the bark of a Ponderosa Pine. He talked to me, "Beeeeeep, beeeeeep, beeeeeep, ..." as I photographed him but otherwise seemed completely unperturbed by my close proximity.
Thus passed another wild spring day in the Colorado Front Range. I felt low all day, with more neck/head pain than I've had in a week. But, I know that it's part of the process of rebuilding my body. Without pushing myself close to my limits, I won't get stronger. It's a delicate dance, finding the limits without exceeding them. Sometimes I get it right and sometimes I don't. I suspect that I overdid something early today but I'm not sure what it was. That's usually the case...

In some ways, my determination to get the most out of each day, at the limit of my physical capabilities is a good quality, and, in others, it's not. But, it's me, and I can't change it.

Carpe Diem! That's my theme.

As an aside, I've found a new blog, Running with Kona, that's lots of fun and talks about working with a fearful dog who is bursting with potential. I enjoy reading about their daily runs and the challenges that they tackle. You might enjoy it too!

Tough as hell

Thanks to all of you wonderful bloggers who left me notes of encouragement about my first bike ride yesterday. It feels like a small accomplishment in the context of the larger world but it was a major triumph for me. It felt fantastic to know that others understood how I felt. Thank you so much for your support.

This morning, we had a wonderful hike, climbing up a south-facing slope where most of the snow had melted. K leaped over a fallen log on a recall, with the puppy-like energy that she still possesses.
We crested the ridge and discovered that a new snow storm oozed inexorably toward us and had erased the mountains from the horizon.
The trail along the crest sometimes veered slightly to the north, leaving the dogs standing in snow.
As we hiked, the storm enveloped our world, covering the low hills closest to us.
The dogs picked up a scent from the north-facing side of the slope that they wanted to investigate. On past my mountain bike rides, I've found mountain lion tracks numerous times on that slope - it's a slope that our most secretive animals love.

We leashed the pups and explored the snowy slope. We found a maze of elk tracks but no predator tracks. When we emerged from the forest, the clouds had darkened still further so we started to trek back toward the trailhead. The dogs frolicked wildly, making me laugh aloud.When we arrived back at the car, we pulled my bike out of the back so that I could ride home. Snow lazily drifted out of the sky but I felt a little more vulnerable than usual so my pack covered my back by delaying their drive home while I rode my bike home. By lingering behind me, they could pick me up if I needed to be rescued.

I was truly amazed by how great my legs felt. Moreover, I had NO pain shooting down my arms into my hands - something that I've lived with for many years until now. I found myself hammering up a hill, practically laughing aloud as I tried to rocket through the now pelting snow. I didn't care about the snow stinging my face - I was riding my bike, and I even felt fast! I had to curb my bursting enthusiasm to avoid stressing my neck but it was tough to curb!

As I rode home through the snow, I passed two firefighters trudging along the side of the dirt road. They'd been working to control a prescribed burn designed to reduce wildfire danger. Their faces were blackened with ash, they wore heavy fire-proof suits, and they carried heavy hoes and shovels. Yet, they waved and shouted to me: "You are tough as hell!". Funny, I'd been thinking the same about them.

By this evening, the fury of the storm pummeled us during the dogs' evening hike. The wind whipped the snow horizontally past our faces. An inch fell during our 20 minute hike.
Right now, the snow is falling at 3-5" per hour. Who knows what the grand total will be?
Shortly after our last big storm a few days ago, I sneaked out without the dogs to check the bear den. The ursines had fallen back into deep hibernation mode. They hadn't left the den in days, except to stick their snouts outside and eat some snow about every second day, according to the wildlife cameras.

What I saw that day warmed my heart. The snow almost completely covered the den, and the setting sun suffused the snowy world with gold.
From the front, I still could barely discern the den entrance.
I zoomed with my camera and caught a glimpse of the sow. She's concluded that I'm pretty boring. She opened an eye, yawned, and went back to sleep in her cozy den whose opening now barely revealed her face. She served as the den guard, blocking access to her cub who doubtless slept behind her.
I imagine that the sow and her cub are snuggled together in the den right now as the storm buffets our forest. It's a wonderful thought. But, I have to say that if anyone is "tough as hell", it's the wild animals who somehow survive in our forests despite brutal storms like tonight's.

A momentous day for me

In a small way and insignificant way for most of the world, today was momentous for me. Over my 20 years of struggling with spinal degeneration, I've learned that the old saying that "can't isn't part of my vocabulary" doesn't apply to me. Now, I have a long list of things that I can't do - and my greatest fear about my surgery was that the list might grow.

I've been an athlete since I was a little girl, yearning to feel the fiery burn of pushing my body to its limits almost every day. Even at age 6, my parents say that I'd skip lunch on weekends so that I could ride my bike all day long. I even started a 'bike gang' in my neighborhood - I was the boss, of course, and we rode the alleys behind our row houses for hours on end.

For a short period, I abandoned biking for other sports, sports that I grew to love including lacrosse and competitive running. But then, the "can't" word entered my life when doctors saw images of my spine when I was in my early 20s. Running was forbidden due to the jarring impact of each footfall. I love watching my dogs run, and often wish that I could break into an easy jog along side them. But, I've accepted that I can't.
In addition to the ban on running, all sports involving twisting were deemed too dangerous because they were likely to accelerate the spinal degeneration. I felt obligated to listen to the doctors. After all, I needed my spine to work for many more decades. So, "can't" became a word that I was forced to accept. By accepting it, I learned how to flow downhill like water, gliding around obstacles rather than fighting them. It's part of why I declared this year as the Year of the Bobcat for me - I wanted to emulate a bobcat's flexibility and tenaciousness. After all, bobcats have flourished despite human cruelty and extreme habitat loss. They've flourished by adapting to their new world, just like I hope that I can continue to do in my life.

So, when all my favorite sports were banned, I needed to find the path that would bring me the joy of nature and hard exercise while observing the new rules laid out by my doctors. I turned to biking and fell in love with it.

I'm not your average mountain biker. I love riding my mountain bike in the most secret and quiet parts of the forest. I stop frequently, dropping my bike to go look at a tree, follow wildlife tracks, explore a boulder outcropping that looks like good bobcat habitat, photograph wildflowers, or just sit in the silence. For me, my mountain bike is a way of covering lots of ground in the forest while exerting myself to my limits. I ride silently and, to the best of my ability, without leaving a trace. I also love riding with a dog by my side, listening to her easy gallop as I struggle up hills and over rocky trails.

So, when I decided that it was time to submit to neck surgery about 10 weeks ago, I feared that more activities would become forbidden. Most of all, I feared for my mountain biking. To combat my fear, I followed every rehabilitation recommendation to the letter. I've been walking 4 miles a day, every single day - but I've loved almost every step of it so I can't complain. I've been doing neck exercises three times a day focusing on range of motion, strength, and 'nerve gliding' (to prevent the nerves that go from my neck to my arms from getting stuck in scar tissue). Moreover, I've ridden indoor bike trainers daily. I started riding a recumbent bike trainer in the first week after surgery, and in recent weeks, I gradually traded that for my regular mountain bike mounted on an indoor training device. In short, I've spent the majority of my waking hours strengthening my beleaguered body to prepare it for today.

Today, after careful consideration by my PT, I rode my mountain bike outdoors!!! Below, I headed out onto our dirt road, full of excitement and the weight of trepidation. I feared a million things... but mostly I feared that my neck would no longer could bend enough to allow me to look ahead while riding. I shouldn't have feared - my neck performed beautifully. I had a joyful and short ride on our dirt road. My only deficit was that I couldn't look over my shoulder... but I've been assured that my loss of twisting motion will undoubtedly pass, as soon as my neck muscles loosen up.
The photo of my momentous event certainly isn't as cute as the photos of the bear cub or my Labraduo, but it means the world to me. I teared up as I arrived home, feeling content in the knowledge that bike riding will become part of my life again. My first ride was supposed to occur in the desert this week, on a vacation that we've postponed because a virus has hit our house. That's why I slogged through snow to get to the road!

Ironically, my young nephew who I hope will be my biking companion some day was learning to ride his first true mountain bike yesterday. His photo is much cuter than mine!
Today, before I rode my mountain bike, I had the honor of both members of the Labraduo joining me for a hike. I tossed aside the snowshoes because they've been torturing the ruptured disc in my low back and decided to tromp through the snow in boots, even if it was thigh-high in places.

After watching her closely today and on other days, I've concluded that K's rock-climbing obsession is partly so that she can keep watch for the huge dog pack that comes through on most mornings. R joined her today.
And, they struck a joint pose at one point.
Although we weren't close to the bear den, I think that the bear scent wafts in the prevailing winds toward this lookout point. The dogs always orient toward it. However, they've both recently demonstrated an extreme fear of bears so I no longer worry about them taking off toward the scent.
As we hiked, R seemed closely connected to me, stopping to look closely at me, as if he'd never really seen me before. The photo at the start of the post was one of those moments, a heart-touching instant of connection, and this one was another.
When we arrived home, K homed in on the sunniest spot in the house next to my exercise ball, her habitual morning snoozing spot. But, unlike most mornings, R wanted to be as close to her as possible, even though no more sun rays were available.
They crossed paws, seemingly a symbol of their growing bond.
It was, indeed, a good day.

A walk through nature and more hibernating bears

The sun scorched our snow, as the spring solar heat does every year. By last evening, the morning's light powder had a hard crust on the top. Our hike this morning started as a fairly easy snowshoe trek because I didn't break through the crust. However, soon, the snow became like mashed potatoes, making every step a strenuous effort. I didn't want to follow the same route as yesterday so we broke new trail.
The pups led the way to our local vista and waited for me for a moment at the top.
We hung out on the summit, gazing at the snowy mountains and enjoying the warm sun on our faces.
On the horizon, our towering sentinels wore a new coat of snow and nary a cloud enshrouded them.
Since the storm, I'd seen the tracks of only squirrels, rabbits, and weasels. It seemed that everyone else fled ahead of the fury. I decided to descend by contouring downward through a dense forest to see if animals had hidden there. Moreover, I wondered whether the lion whose tracks I saw the other day on this slope had stayed in the area.

I gave the dogs the honor of breaking trail, recalling them if they stretched the elastic too far, and were leading me by too much.
Both of them have such good recalls, even R, making it a pleasure to hike with them.
I saw no tracks whatsoever on this hillside despite the slightly shallower snow cover. However, I noticed numerous trees marked by animals over the years. I've been working on learning how to recognize what animal made a particular mark on a tree.

The tree behind K in the photo caught my eye because the marks extended quite high, almost at the limits of my reach.
A closer look revealed fur stuck to the tree sap, up to about 4-5' off the ground. Based on the color, I suspected that an elk debarked this tree with teeth and antlers. Then, he rubbed his body against it, leaving fur all over the tree.A slightly subtler marking on a different tree suggested that an animal with claws had raked them down the tree many times. This tree also had fur stuck to it. Based on the height of the deep and sharp claw marks and the tawny colored fur stuck to the tree, I wondered if a lion had used this tree as a scratching post.
The only indication that any animals larger than a rabbit had traveled our area since the storm came from one wildlife camera. A coyote used our tire tracks as a packed trail for travel last night.
As I hike our trails, the vision of the bears sleeping in their cave rarely leaves my subconscious. I love that I know where they are and they seem to be having a safe winter. As you know from previous videos and photos, the mother bear is black, with a brown snout. The cub is chocolate with a white diamond on his chest.
I'm guessing that the biggest bear that we've seen in the past couple of years is the cub's father. Male black bears continue to grow throughout their lifetimes while females stop growing after they reach adulthood. Consequently, the dominant boar in a forest tends to be the biggest bear around. Here he is walking past a wildlife camera.
And, here he is again, reaching up, trying to defeat our bear-proof bird feeding system. This system has withstood the attempts of many bears over a number of years. They try once or twice in the spring and then don't return again. Sorry about the blur. I took the photo through the window. When I went out and stood in the same place, I found out that the bear and I are about the same height!
Ironically, even though this boar was likely the father of the cub shown in the video below, he probably posed the greatest threat to the cub's survival. Male bears kill cubs, without regard for whether those cubs are their own. Because I have wildlife camera footage that shows that this male bear roamed in the same area as the mama bear and her cub last spring, I'm betting that a deadly serious game of cat and mouse was underway, with mama bear carefully protecting her cub, both by sending the cub up a tree and then defending the base of the tree.

Finally, below, I've included a video of the hibernating bears' activities on March 13, a very warm (40 deg) sunny spring day. They spent a long time outside that day (about 40 min). I culled the video down to the most interesting activity... but if you are short of time, go straight to the end where I encapsulate the whole day in a series of still photos. I probably should have put the stills first in the video - but I don't have the energy to wrestle with iMovie for even one more instant!

Dogs romping in deep spring snow

The duo and I plodded out into the deep snow, tromping through it with snowshoes. Early in the morning, the air was still freezing (5°F) and the snow light and powdery. The snow-laden trees contrasted with the deep blue sky.
As we passed a snow-carpeted boulder, K clambered to the top for a view and gave me a photo-opportunity.
R hasn't developed the same love of standing tall atop boulders so his spontaneous photo ops are less impressive.
R remained mired down in the deep snow near the boulder base.
Shortly later, R goaded K into raucous play.
And they sprinted away, kicking up a cloud of powder, while carrying a stick.
After climbing and working up a sweat in the frigid air, we found views to the mountains that sit to our west, towering behind R and K.
I loved having both of the duo with me. R brings out the playful side in K and me. He's good for both of us!
I have to admit that my spine is protesting the sudden intrusion of big snowshoes into my life. Walking in them has caused me pain for years but cross country skiing is forbidden right now while my spine is healing. Since I can't bear to miss a day like today in the forest, I plodded in my cumbersome snowshoes. It was simply a glorious day!

I promise another bear video tomorrow. It's currently uploading, at a snail-like pace, to Youtube.

Snowstorm - springtime in suspended animation

Last night, the fiery sunset portended a new snow storm. The air was still but heavy with approaching frost and snow.
During our morning hike, snow pelted out of the sky, covering the Labraduo in snow flakes that streaked in front of their snouts.
The promise of spring was extinguished. Yesterday's sun had melted the snow from the top of the boulder behind the duo. When the air temperature plummeted over night, the flowing water made icicles, hanging from tough lichens that live under the overhang of the boulder. The vision made me ponder spring being placed into 'suspended animation', just waiting for the warm sun that will reappear later this week to start the water flowing again.
Despite the streaking snow that stung our eyes, the duo fixated on something in the distance.The storm's fury continued all day and probably is still pounding our world outdoors. By our evening 'hike', snowshoes were required to wade through a couple of feet of snow. The dogs looked like they swam in the bottomless powder.
But then, the mighty dragon, R, rose up out of the the ocean of snow to hurl himself forward with a fury.
Our spring snow brought a smile to my face. It's a yearly cycle - and without it, we wouldn't have wildflowers and tall green grass this summer. Besides that, it's just plain fun!

Tomorrow, I'll have the last installment of the latest series of bear videos. I get a cozy feeling imagining the sow and her yearling now, snuggled together in their cave-like den. I love knowing that our mighty ursines are warm, dry, and slumbering in their hideaway while the fury of our fading winter whirls around their den.