In this late spring's snowmelt —blessed snow for the Rockies —a healthy, bank-brimming river runs golden brown. White-maned "horses" surge over hidden rocks, with kayakers and rafters dipping and swirling down its course. I travel along its run from west of Fort Collins to its headwaters at Crawford Pass, where a reservoir holds some of the melting snow from rushing off the mountains.
Relatively frequent rains have greened the hillsides and blossomed many wildflowers. Toward the upper end of the Poudre Canyon, broad, shining green meadows border the river. I explore one which steps down to the river with an old, doorless cabin sunken into the ground just twenty feet from the river.
The drier knoll between the road and the river meadow holds so many small barrel cacti that it's hard to step on the ground between them. Their waxy pink blossoms glow like abalone shell. Yellow and white lupines and blue and purple nameless-to-me flowers are everywhere, and I sprawl on the ground with camera and macro lens, attempting to capture for an instant the richness of colors and shapes.
Across the river from the cabin, an equally lush meadow gleams behind the trees that line the bank. Behind the cabin, pale blue flag lift fleur-de-lis petals in the tall grass.
One could imagine a tent by the ponderosa pine beside the fire ring that remains there. One could imagine waking to the sound of elk snorting and munching. One could imagine the brilliance of stars in a valley where not one electric light would be lit. Mmmmm.
Snow is still thick on the ground at Crawford Pass where the road crosses the Continental Divide; the peaks are streaks of brown among gleaming white snowfields. Crags line the south side of the highway as it runs west.
Then the wide expanse of the meadows and fields of North Park opens. The line of the Medicine Bow mountains rims its eastern boundary, darkening under the massive thunderclouds that appear, sweeping rain veils here and there.
A light brown hawk lifts from a fence post, and its long wings flash white patches as it disappears behind shrubs. Ferruginous, I think. Water-brimmed irrigation ditches border and run through promising hayfields, looking much like "water meadows." Thunderclouds hang on the western side of North Park, also, and the wind moves them swiftly east.
Suddenly the shine of loops and loops of water surprises me as the road rises to the top of a bluff. A parking area invites, and I stop. Below lies a chunk of the Arapaho National Wildlife Refuge, this spring brimming and overflowing with water. The clouds of spring migrants, though, have moved on.
I reach Walden, the only town of substance in this north central area of Colorado, and turn south for a run through the western side of the Refuge. A huge bird standing in a sage-covered field catches my eye and I stop, turn around, and go back. A color-changing young bald eagle is striking in its transition from all dark feathers to white tail and head. These sage fields have replaced the water meadows of the northern part of the Refuge.
The sun shines diffusely through the clouds that drag rain veils, beautiful in its effect, but leading to washed-out images on my film. (But getting used to my "new" used camera, after my 18-year-old Nikon FG 20 couldn't be fixed, could also be a cause.)
This road climbs easily over Willow Creek Pass and winds down through steep slopes. Rounding one corner, I am astounded by a huge rock dike, very tall —I hazard maybe a hundred feet —which climbs from the road, straight up the hillside and disappears from my line of sight. Further along, a smaller one climbs to the same ridgeline.
To Granby and the eastern side of Middle Park, over Berthoud Pass and the snowfields on the Continental Divide, down Interstate 70, and home. A gorgeous day; would that I had done it several years ago.
Cherie