Colorful Colorado
lives up to its name. Ten minutes from where I’m staying is Red Rock Open Space
with its varied colored sand and gravel trails. The signature red rocks form a
ridge like a dinosaur’s back moving over the countryside toward Garden of the
Gods whose dynamic rock formations draw visitors from all over the world.
Sport climbing routes run up some of the faces and when I go for a walk, I often stop and watch climbers scurry upward equipped with their ropes, carabiners, climbing shoes, and chalk.
If I go far enough, sometimes I have a trail to myself with nothing but the sound of birds or the wind in the trees and a view that rests my soul.
The trails wind and intersect—Greenlee Trail, Mesa Trail, Quarry Pass Trail, Contemplative Trail, Roundup Trail, Hogback Valley Trail, Red Rock Canyon Path—and this summer I’m learning them and their ways. As I do, I feel wilderness advocate John Muir’s words to my core, “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.”1
Approximately forty miles east of Colorado Springs is the Paint Mines Interpretive Park. Named for the clays that the Native Americans used to make paint, the clay and sandstone hoodoos (as the formations are called) have layers of color; pink, purple, white, orange. Signs of oxidation, signs of change, signs of geological history. Who came here first? Were they as delighted as I am to walk among the rocks?
Less than twenty minutes another way, I am at North Cheyenne Cañon Park. There I see the smooth gray face of Helen Hunt Falls; a 35-foot waterfall (named after the poet, writer, and activist for Native Americans and not after the actress). After I take the more tourist-calling trail to the Falls’ overlook and admire the vista, I’m not quite finished wandering so I venture up the Columbine Trail upward toward the top of Gold Camp Road. Hummingbirds buzz and chase each other away.
A woodpecker gives me the eye. I stop a million times to rejoice in the views, to smell the charming scent of pine, to feel the breeze as it travels past. Colors of blue and green turn purple in the distance, intermix with gray and brown. Tiny bursts of wildflower brightness, orange and red and yellow catch my eye. A large, bright yellow bird lands in a tree but flies away again before I can get a clear picture of it. The mountains are underneath my feet and all around me. Muir also said, “going to the mountains is going home” and “wildness is a necessity.”2 These things feel as true to me as the heady breathlessness of the high-altitude air.
Heading west, less than an hour away, are the Florissant Fossil Beds. Petrified tree stumps from Redwood trees that used to tower two or three hundred feet high now are turned from wood to rock, nothing of their former nature remains except the shape. A Park Ranger tells me that if I had a blowtorch turned up to 2000 degrees, the rock would melt into a pool of glass as it’s basically very hardened sand.
Here too, wildflowers color the grass—Indian Paintbrushes, Blue Flax, Golden Smoke, Pasque Flower, Fire Weed, Stemless Locoweed—and the distant mountain peaks don’t get justice in a photo. How could I capture beauty such as this? The moody sky casts the grass in all tones of green. A soft drizzle starts up. Feeling lucky to have a friend with me and a cool day for lots of walking, I don’t notice the cold until my fingers start to tingle with pins and needles. Back at the car, I put my sweatshirt on and revel in the adventure of it all.
There are trips for the taking. So many more. Colorful Colorado, where to next? My list is long and time is short. I’ll see as much as I can before the summer ends. For as Muir said in a letter to his sister, “The mountains are calling and I must go.”3
Quotes taken from this website:
https://vault.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/writings/favorite_quotations.aspx
1 Our National Parks , 1901, page 56.
2 Our National Parks, (1901), chapter 1, page 1.
3 Letter to sister Sarah Galloway, September 3,1873, in Life and Letters of John Muir, Chapter 10 (1923).
