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ferineSuch a magical, majestic Saturday. Drove more than an hour beyond ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spiritcougar's den on Lookout Mountain, into the heart of the mountains.
The drive up to his den was scenic in itself; the road snaked up the mountainside, hairpin turns revealing scenic overlooks of Denver as well as sheer drops to one side. Folk with remote-controlled gliders flocked at the guard rails toward the mountain's crest, sending their wings into the current. Above them parasailers spread their great rectangular sails and, with a running leap, took their lazy descent to the distant ground.
At the den I opted to journey further, to the nature area in the heart of the mountains which I was thinking of holding the Gathering in for a day. We drove and drove through glorious views: pine forests carpeting the hill and mountainsides; mountains all around, in the distance and in all directions, like in my youth in Steamboat Springs. Ears popped frequently as we climbed in elevation. We polished off a bag of beef jerky and finally reached our destination. I didn't want the ride to end, but I hungered to leave the car and investigate the territory. The park was remote and breathtaking, at the base of foothills and mountains.
Evidence of last year's Hayman Fire lay in fingers of burnt, naked trees on the side of a few of the hillsides. Vibrant pine tree and plant growth outweighed the scorched areas. Below the parking lot lay two roofed structures without walls, which boasted park tables with benches and barbeque grills. The spaces can be reserved, which I am most certainly doing for the Gathering (on that Sunday).
Near the structures is a stretch of flat area with several pine trees, and beside it is the South Platte River (which, ironically, is the same river near my house). Following the trail along the river it opens to a lake and a meadow. The scenery, the silence pierced by crow calls, the pristine mountain air, the perfume of pine and fresh water; it is edible, as if these things alone have substance to sustain life.
As we circled the lake I studied two huge crows playing at the edge of a beaver dam. We crossed to a different trail and went "off-roading" to a swathe of golden grass near the riverbank. I exchanged a woven bracelet I had brought along for a seed pod that clung delicately to a skeletal bush close to the river’s edge. It looks tike a small pine cone, grayish-brown in color and quite hard, with a tip the resembles the shape of the leaves of a pineapple. I need to do some websearching and see what plant it belongs to.
After a thorough investigation of the area we returned to the road for more scenic driving. I must have resembled an over-stimulated puppy with my rubber-necking and barks of enthusiasm and nostalgia for mountain living. We followed lonely mountain roads that followed the river. We passed a remote, tiny village of a town that flanked the river called Foxton, on Foxton Road no less. And guess was we saw? A rather sizable red fox trotting on the road in front of us. It had rescued a road kill vole for its dining pleasure, and a lengthy rat-like tail hung from its black lips. The fox kept pacing to and fro on the road, so we stayed there to try to keep other cars from hitting it. Thankfully there’s not much traffic on such a remote dirt road, but there were two cars that eventually showed up. The one coming toward us slowed when it saw us and the fox, but later a car came up fast behind us and passed us. By that time the fox had exited the road to the right and trotted down into a grassy ravine. Whew!
As we watched it go, I craned my neck out the window and made eye contact with the fox momentarily. Such wild, eerie eyes! My heart leapt to my throat.
We continued on our way. Saw aspen copses and a female elk, two things I haven't seen in person since Steamboat Springs! The mountains, the scenery, like a painting, like a dream.
Finally we filtered back down to civilization. We broke bread at the mall, and set about finding items to decorate Erik's den. Then we returned to my den and watched a documentary I had taped on mountain lions, Canadian lynxes, and bobcats. Afterwards, thoroughly exhausted but happy, Erik left and I oozed into bed like a gelatinous mass.
spiritcougar's den on Lookout Mountain, into the heart of the mountains.The drive up to his den was scenic in itself; the road snaked up the mountainside, hairpin turns revealing scenic overlooks of Denver as well as sheer drops to one side. Folk with remote-controlled gliders flocked at the guard rails toward the mountain's crest, sending their wings into the current. Above them parasailers spread their great rectangular sails and, with a running leap, took their lazy descent to the distant ground.
At the den I opted to journey further, to the nature area in the heart of the mountains which I was thinking of holding the Gathering in for a day. We drove and drove through glorious views: pine forests carpeting the hill and mountainsides; mountains all around, in the distance and in all directions, like in my youth in Steamboat Springs. Ears popped frequently as we climbed in elevation. We polished off a bag of beef jerky and finally reached our destination. I didn't want the ride to end, but I hungered to leave the car and investigate the territory. The park was remote and breathtaking, at the base of foothills and mountains.
Evidence of last year's Hayman Fire lay in fingers of burnt, naked trees on the side of a few of the hillsides. Vibrant pine tree and plant growth outweighed the scorched areas. Below the parking lot lay two roofed structures without walls, which boasted park tables with benches and barbeque grills. The spaces can be reserved, which I am most certainly doing for the Gathering (on that Sunday).
Near the structures is a stretch of flat area with several pine trees, and beside it is the South Platte River (which, ironically, is the same river near my house). Following the trail along the river it opens to a lake and a meadow. The scenery, the silence pierced by crow calls, the pristine mountain air, the perfume of pine and fresh water; it is edible, as if these things alone have substance to sustain life.
As we circled the lake I studied two huge crows playing at the edge of a beaver dam. We crossed to a different trail and went "off-roading" to a swathe of golden grass near the riverbank. I exchanged a woven bracelet I had brought along for a seed pod that clung delicately to a skeletal bush close to the river’s edge. It looks tike a small pine cone, grayish-brown in color and quite hard, with a tip the resembles the shape of the leaves of a pineapple. I need to do some websearching and see what plant it belongs to.
After a thorough investigation of the area we returned to the road for more scenic driving. I must have resembled an over-stimulated puppy with my rubber-necking and barks of enthusiasm and nostalgia for mountain living. We followed lonely mountain roads that followed the river. We passed a remote, tiny village of a town that flanked the river called Foxton, on Foxton Road no less. And guess was we saw? A rather sizable red fox trotting on the road in front of us. It had rescued a road kill vole for its dining pleasure, and a lengthy rat-like tail hung from its black lips. The fox kept pacing to and fro on the road, so we stayed there to try to keep other cars from hitting it. Thankfully there’s not much traffic on such a remote dirt road, but there were two cars that eventually showed up. The one coming toward us slowed when it saw us and the fox, but later a car came up fast behind us and passed us. By that time the fox had exited the road to the right and trotted down into a grassy ravine. Whew!
As we watched it go, I craned my neck out the window and made eye contact with the fox momentarily. Such wild, eerie eyes! My heart leapt to my throat.
We continued on our way. Saw aspen copses and a female elk, two things I haven't seen in person since Steamboat Springs! The mountains, the scenery, like a painting, like a dream.
Finally we filtered back down to civilization. We broke bread at the mall, and set about finding items to decorate Erik's den. Then we returned to my den and watched a documentary I had taped on mountain lions, Canadian lynxes, and bobcats. Afterwards, thoroughly exhausted but happy, Erik left and I oozed into bed like a gelatinous mass.
