A Snapshot and The Scoop: That Was Too Close

Torrey and I were on our way back from an epic hike, trudging along through a light shower exhausted but exhilarated, when we and a small group of other hikers stumbled into a nursery herd of elk along the trail. Pretty much out of nowhere, we were surrounded by the creatures. We all stopped, probably a little closer to them than we should have been, cooing over the babies in the herd and snapping photos until one of the babies let out a cry that caused several of the female elk who were laying down to jump to their feet. We scattered, some of us running down or back up the trail, others (myself included) ducking behind trees, keen on putting distance or something solid between us and a potentially upset mother. The females eyed us, then must have decided we weren't a threat and went back to grazing, but all of us had had enough; we didn't want to push our luck. We left them to it.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a time you've had a close call with a mother animal. Don't tell me I'm the only one!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Looking Down

I recently read somewhere that hikers tend to take in the big picture, but often overlook the little things on the trail; that instead of powering through a hike with our eyes on those ever-distant mountains, we need to slow down and explore what's immediately around us, particularly what is under our boots. With this in mind, I spent a lot of time on my most recent adventure in the mountains looking down. Yes, I oggled plenty of sweeping mountain views, but I also tried to notice the little grasses, a tiny spring, the blush of a small flower wherever I sat. There were even a few times where I was down on my hands and knees peering at micro ecosystems, trying to notice all the life contained in such a small area. From now on, I think I'll make a concentrated effort to continue doing so. I liked what I saw.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a time you noticed the littlest things, even in your own garden.

The Tarn Hike: We Touched A Glacier!

Accomplished. We stopped, breathless, both because of the steep hike and the beauty of the lake that spread out before us. It didn't take us long to climb a boulder and perch atop it, gazing at The Loch that reached toward the gap in the mountains we were hiking to. Torrey and I were on our first full day in Rocky Mountain National Park, and we had an ambitious hike planned for the day: Andrew's Glacier, more than eight miles round trip with a hefty elevation gain to boot. We had left our campsite in the pre-dawn light and started from the trailhead at sunrise, almost constantly hiking uphill. We hiked fairly slowly, allowing our legs and lungs to get used to the altitude and the pitch of the trail, though it still wasn't easy for us flatlanders (with me living only just above sea level) and we (mostly I) had to rest often. We spent quite some time at The Loch, following the trail halfway around along the shore of the lake, pausing to scramble up boulders for an overview or down to soggy meadows near the water's edge to look for fish. Eventually, reluctantly, we moved on, knowing even bigger rewards were waiting for us at trail's end.

The path didn't become easier once we passed The Loch. As a matter of fact, it became narrower, though still well marked, and it was clear that a lot of the traffic turned around at the small lake. Not long after the lake we came to the final fork in the trail where the left hand branch would take us to Timberline Falls, Lake of Glass and beyond to Sky Pond, and the right branch to Andrew's Creek Backcountry Campsite, Andrew's Creek, and Andrew's Glacier. We turned right and climbed. The trail became, if possible, even more narrow and in some places hard to follow. Only a short way beyond the backcountry campsite (where I will camp someday) we came across our first pile of bear poop, and I was grateful for the bear spray at my hip. Though not fresh, it was a pointed reminder that we were far from civilization and we needed to take care of ourselves. Of course, knowing that is one thing and doing it quite another given that from there the trail led us above treeline and almost exclusively along loose scree and talus where we had to pick our way carefully so as not to lose the trail or break a leg. Not to mention breathing got just a little bit harder as we gained altitude and exerted effort to climb the loose rocks.

Our effort and the hour it took us to climb the last ridge of scree was well worth the reward once we reached the top. Andrew's Tarn stretched from almost the lip of the moraine right where we crested all the way back to the namesake glacier, blindingly bright in the midday sun. A small creek ran out of the tarn and tumbled over the moraine, giving life to Andrew's Creek in the forest below. And the colors!! I thought I was prepared for the gorgeous colors of a glacier and its lake, but I was so very wrong. I have never seen such a beautiful, unique shade of turquoise in my life. From one side of the lake it was more blue, from another more green, and from above something else entirely. And the glacier! The picture above does it absolutely no justice. It was so much bigger in person, and yet somehow it was smaller than I'd hoped. I guess years of below-average snowfall and above-average summer temperatures have taken their toll. Torrey and I were also treated to the squeaks and cries of pikas, and watched fat marmots waddle among the alpine rocks with a nimble grace that I was envious of. When we'd snacked and rested our weary legs we picked our way around the tarn towards the glacier, intent on checking off another bucketlist item by touching a glacier.

After our photo-op and a quick walk on the glacier, we prepared to head down. We weren't really looking forward to the scramble down the loose scree, and ended up accidentally taking a false trail that necessitated a couple of creek crossings that were way more difficult than they should have been. We eventually got back on track though, just in time to look over our shoulder and see clouds building above the mountain pass we had just descended. We hurried back to treeline, and ducked into the forest with a bit of relief at being off of the loose rocks and not so exposed. Following the trail lower, we soon came to the fork for Timberline Falls and Sky Pond and held a debate about pushing our limits and just going for it, even if it rained, or having the sense to call it a day and head off the mountain. Our egos won and we turned down the path for the falls, even as we felt the first sprinkles from the sky.

The hike to Timberline falls actually wasn't too bad until the final approach to the falls, where the trail got really steep and really crowded. Obviously the more popular of the trails in the area, the trail to the falls was choked with people and we often had to wait for lines of hikers to pass on their way down while we climbed up. To be honest, I didn't mind the breaks; I could catch my breath. Then we got to the falls themselves, and I didn't need the rest. Our path lay ahead, and you had to climb up the falls in order to proceed. We got in line and took turns climbing up with those climbing down from the lake above, being very cautious about where we put our hands and feet on the slick, wet rocks. We made it up though, and The Lake of Glass stretched out before us almost to the back cirque of the mountains, and it looked angry. The storm we had been watching finally arrived, and we sheltered under an overhanging boulder as we packed our cameras and phones into waterproof pockets while debating the merits of continuing on to Sky Pond, or finally calling it a day and heading back down, knowing full well we still had miles to go before we got back to the car. In the end, we headed down, leaving Sky Pond for another day. Resigned to being wet, we downclimbed the even more slippery falls and trudged back into the rain-soaked forest, now thinking of dry clothes and the warm car, with the fact that we had hiked to and touched a glacier earlier that day blazing in our chests.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Deja Vu

The shocking, burning cold was all too familiar. I had visited this spot a year before on another adventure, and this summer I took my sister to see the gorgeous Zapata Falls located near Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, insisting that though hiking upstream would be cold, so cold it hurt, that it was worth it. What I didn't expect, however, were the number of people making their painstakingly slow way through the freezing stream to see the falls as well. Last year, Megan and I had had the falls almost all to ourselves. This year my sister and I had to wait our turn to get a closer look at the falls, attempting to stand on raised rocks so we didn't have to burn our feet and ankles while we waited. Zapata Falls was gorgeous, stunning, a cleft in the dark granite where Zapata Creek forced it's way through, barreling down the slick rocks and carving its way out of the almost cave-like canyon. But it was cold, almost to cold to stand, and after quick pictures we returned to dry ground as fast as we possibly could, inching past others lining up in the cold water to get a look at the falls too. I can't deny, I was relieved to get to the bank of the stream, warm my feet, and head back to the car.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about the coldest you (or any part of you) has ever been.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Around the Creek Bend

Sometimes, you just have to see what's around the river bend. Or, in this case, the creek bend. My sister and I decided to spend a few hours one afternoon on our mini getaway to Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve exploring Medano Creek, walking up stream away from the hoards of people crowded near the main parking lot. We found the creek became narrower, more rocky, and more difficult to navigate, just like you would expect from a mountain stream. The bottom was still mostly sand, but the closer we got to its source the more rocks there were hidden under a thin layer of sand. We eventually turned around due to storms building over the mountains in front of us, but some day I'd love to hike to Medano Creek's headwaters up in the mountains and maybe take a dip in the snowmelt pond. Who's up for an adventure?

Leave me a comment below and let me know if you're interested!

My Top Five Favorite Hikes

Exploring this amazing country has become a life goal of mine, and it's one that I'm not putting off till later. I travel far and wide, as often as physically possible, and make plans to get outside every weekend. I love traveling by car and happily drive nearly everywhere I travel to, but if I really want to get to know a place I explore it by foot. Hiking is more than just a hobby of mine; it's become a lifestyle that leads me from the ocean beach to the mountain top and every prairie, forest, and desert between. I've tried to get a comprehensive list of my favorite hikes together before, but I travel to so many new places that the list constantly changed. I've finally put words and pictures to my top five hikes as of my latest adventure, but please keep in mind that this list changes constantly. Read on below to discover the best places to take a hike!

Hidden Canyon, Zion National Park, Utah

First things first, this hike is NOT for those with even a minor fear of heights. The trail starts climbing right away, up from the bottom of Zion Canyon along countless switchbacks until it curves around and takes you out of sight of the trailhead parking lot. From then it gets really interesting. I hiked this route in the middle of winter, the first week of January, and only got partway through before I decided it was too dangerous to continue. I really didn't want to fall off a cliff, and that was a real possibility if I'd kept going. As far as I went, I encountered countless steps, tight places, and seriously exposed trail no wider than a sidewalk with a two hundred foot drop off on one side and a towering rock wall with a chain bolted to it for a handhold. (NOTE: This hike was closed for construction as of Summer 2016. Please check with the park for current trail closures.)

Chesler Park/The Joints, Canyonlands National Park, Utah

I've written about this hike here, but it is worth repeating how spectacular it is. If you've a mind to wander through a grassy meadow surrounded by red and white spires, then check out a network of slot-like canyons where you sometimes have to squeeze in sideways against cool sandstone walls, then this hike is for you. Also, bonus points for only having one way in and one way out: can't get lost! If you're up for a long (long) desert hike, make the time to hike here.

Mills Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado

I've had the pleasure of hiking to this lake in spring and during winter, and I'm going to have to say I like the wintertime hike better! There's nothing like mountain lakes frozen over, snow blowing with gusts of wind against the dark evergreens. Of course, spring has its merits too: warmer temperatures, bluebird skies and little fishies in the lakes. Read about my two hikes to this gorgeous lake here and here.

Mount Le Conte via Rainbow Falls, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

Although I didn't feel it at the time, the hike up Mount Le Conte has become one of my favorite hikes (and it isn't located in Utah or Colorado!) strictly due to how gorgeous it is. Seriously, old growth forests crowd the well-worn path in Lord-of-the-Rings-esque views while little salamanders scurry away from your boots among the leaf litter. This hike is long, it rains a lot, gains quite a bit of elevation, and is located smack-dab in the middle of a heavily bear-populated park, so make sure you are prepared before you attempt it. It's a good idea to always carry bear spray and bells while you hike.

Sand Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, Colorado 

Can this picture just speak for itself? Featuring North America's tallest sand dunes, mountain ranges that boast '14ers, moody weather, and an abundance of desert, prairie, and mountain wildlife, hiking anywhere into the 30 square mile dune field needs to be on everyone's bucketlist. Make sure you hike to the summit of High Dune, the tallest dune of the front line of the dunes and the most easily accessible dune from the visitor's center, and take a meander up or down Medano Creek to cool off. Just make sure you get off the dunes when the storms blow in, you don't want to be the tallest object out there when lightning starts making contact with the ground.

As you can see, these hikes have thrill and adventure in common, and it should be no surprise that they are located within national parks (and that Colorado and Utah are featured!). Some take you along exposed ledges or into confined spaces, others have altitude as a factor, and most have extreme temperatures to take into account. They are not hikes that you take on a whim, but plan and prepare for before setting out. Don't let that stop you though! Please, do your research, find a hike that excites you for it's destination, it's track, or it's solitude, and get out there. What are your favorite hikes? What should I hike next?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Diversity of a Tidal Marsh

Tidal marshes are some of the most diverse ecosystems I've had the pleasure of exploring. You've got all of your grasses, reeds, and shrubs of course, not to mention any wildflowers you might find in the right season. And then the fauna: millions of insects, spiders, and other bugs constantly zoom around you, carrying on their own simple lives. Crabs and snails and all sorts of fish swim in the pools, ponds, lakes and waterways. And the birds, oh the birds! Storkes, herons, ducks, little field sparrows, swallows and many, many more I can't name. No wonder the tidal marshes near Sea Rim State Park are set aside as a National Wildlife Refuge! There are enough birds nesting in the reeds, only to pop out for a moment before diving back in, to fulfill any bird watcher's dream list. Have I mentioned the alligators that roam the park, or the wild hogs that go snuffling, snorting and splashing through the shallows, or how about the otters that make their home among the warm brackish waters near the coast? It's a nature lover's paradise and a refuge for everyone, not just those who call it home but for those who are just passing through as well.

Leave me a comment and tell me if you've ever explored tidal marshes. What did you think?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Not-So-Lifeless Desert

The dunes at Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, though at first glance seem barren and lifeless, are full of little critters and hardy grasses that manage to survive in the shifting sands. The majority of the animals at Great Sand Dunes are nocturnal, including the sand cricket pictured above. This cricket is actually huge, at least one and a half times bigger than your standard black house cricket, and they have large feet splayed out to cover the most surface area so as to stay on top of the loose sand. We found one crawling on my pack after sitting on a ridge watching the sunset, and as I stayed up late stargazing I found several more crawling around on the sand and in the grass. Far from being creeped out, I was intrigued by these guys, and enjoyed watching them going about their nightly business far from any water source and seemingly far from shelter. Only when I observed one digging into the side of the dune, creating a pile of damp sand at the entrance to a small hole, did I realize they burrowed down into the dunes during the day to escape the heat and predators, and the foot traffic of hikers and thrillseekers all over the dunes. It is so neat to witness little things like that, when most people wouldn't even notice the little piles of sand all over in the mornings if they are just passing through. Backpacking adventures for the win!!

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you think this is as interesting as I do, or am I the only one?

Finding Peace in Ouichita National Forest

Despondent. Sometimes you just need a break from life; to get away, run away, as far as your legs (or a set of wheels) can take you. It was in that mindset that I set out recently with a friend, taking off to the Ouichita Mountains in central Arkansas for a day trip with the sole goal of forgetting myself for the day. I had just suffered, was still suffering from, the sudden, heartbreaking death of a beloved pet, and needed to get away. It's not the first time I've used my trips as a way to deal with loss, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I had the intention of losing myself along the forest service roads in Ouichita National Forest, and had a friend and my dog along for the ride.

We set off early in the morning, and drove several hours under a blanket of pre-dawn darkness before watching a brilliant sunrise over the rolling hills of East Texas. Before long we had entered Arkansas and, turning north, drove from hills into mountains. These aren't the soaring, bald and snow-wreathed mountains of the west but weathered ranges similar to the Appalachian Mountains, though even older. Covered in dediduous forests, these mountains aren't very tall, but you can't deny that they are mountains. There are streams and small rivers everywhere, and the Ouichita Mountains house Hot Springs National Park, though the park was further east than where we spent our day. After a short search through a small mountain town we found a forest service road, took a right turn from pavement to gravel, and began our adventure.

I felt an immediate sense of peace as soon as we turned our backs on civilization, a feeling that increased as we also lost cell service. No people, no loud noises, no distractions, and no thought; just us, my dog, crunchy gravel under rubber, and the endless green of trees. That feeling is why I turn to the natural world in troubled times, where I can escape from reality for a while and deal with my problems while reminding myself that the earth continues to spin. A soft tinkling of falling water, the chatter of birds, buzz of insects and the unidentifiable forest noises ground me in a way nothing else can.

Our first stop for the day was Collier Spring, a picnic area I had discovered on my last trip into the forest, this time blazed with an emerald green forest that surrounded the icy swimming hole and small waterfall on the stream, and velvet moss coated the cobbled stones where the spring gushed from the foundation of the shelter. It took Callie all of five minutes from the time we pulled into the two-car parking space before she jumped in for a swim, chasing sticks and leaves. Jamie and I explored the forest near the stream and pool, marveling at the abundance and variety of spiders just in one small area while being careful not to stick our hands anywhere we couldn't see. After a while a wet and shivering dog crawled out of the pool, shook herself off, and followed us around, which we took to mean she was done with the place and ready to move on.

We followed the single-lane mountain road a little further to Crystal View trailhead, which was supposed to be a short trail to an old quartz quarry that was now open to the public. We had a little trouble finding the trailhead as we didn't have a good map and our phones wouldn't work, and once we finally got to the trailhead and started hiking we actually passed the smaller, unmarked trail that led to the quarry, instead continuing down the path, finding our way around a downed tree, and descending down the mountain a little before admitting we must have passed it and turning back. We saw the quarry from the trail on our way back up, although that was probably because we were diligently looking for it. An exposed, rust colored gash in the forest marks the quarry, and we amused ourselves for a while searching through the white crystal for fun colors while Callie found the nearest muddy puddle and lay down in it for a cool off. My white dog turned orange.

From Crystal Vista we drove a few miles and found Albert Pike Recreation Area where we intended to hike a small section of the Little Missouri Trail after lunch, and started out even though it had begun to rain. We were foiled before we had even gone half a mile by a giant tree that had come down on the poorly marked trail, and we were unwilling to walk through the thick grass and trees (potential snakes) or in the river (potential floods from heavy rain) to get around it. That, plus the fact that it was now thundering as well as pouring rain, convinced us to abandon our hiking efforts and come up with Plan B. We drove up the gravel road a bit, eventually finding a spot near the river to pull off and let Callie out to swim and us to explore. The rain slowed and stopped, though it threatened us with sprinkles several times while we meandered up and down the small section of river bank, throwing sticks into the water for Callie and watching her bound over the rocks, springing off of them to dive with a splash into the river. The clouds closed in on us again, and we spent the rest of the day in the middle of a downpour. We weren't quite ready to call it quits though, and drove the soggy mountain roads slowly, enjoying the forest in the rain and hoping for a glimpse of a black bear.

Our last stop for the day was Little Missouri Falls, a place I had also visited on my March trip to the area, though I didn't linger long at the falls last time. We didn't linger long this time, either, due to the frequent lightning and heavy rain that now threatened to wash us away. We made the trek to the falls, took some pictures, and agreed that we would have to come back on a nicer day before hurrying back to the dry warmth of the car and turning our noses toward home. Despite the rain, the day had been exactly what I needed: an escape, a get-away from normal life where I only had to think about the here and now, and a way to find myself again. Getting out and exploring doesn't take the pain of loss away, but does make it a little easier to deal with.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Weathering the Storm

I have dealt with my fair share of bad weather while adventuring, including intense heat, freezing blizzards, lightning storms and torrential downpour. Until my July adventure at Great Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado, however, I hadn't dealt with hail. While in my tent. My sister and I had called it an early day on our first day at the park after an all-night drive to get there, and were napping at our campsite when the storm rolled in. We'd seen it building, then slowly moving toward us, so we were prepared for the rain and wind; our tent was weighted down and the fly was taunt. I'd also taken a considerable risk and camped under a short juniper, hoping for protection from both sun and the heaviest rain while being aware that in a windstorm a branch, or the whole tree, could come down on top of us. That decision turned out to be a wise one, when we started hearing heavier thunks than the normal rain drop. A peak under the fly showed us pea-sized hail, and a lot of it. I held an internal debate, not wanting to say it out loud and jinx us: it was either make a run for the car, or stay in the tent and hope the hail wouldn't rip a hole in it. The prospect of going out in the hail was highly uninviting, so I decided to wait it out and see what happened. Within a few minutes the hail lightened up, then stopped altogether as the thunder continued to roll. I went back to my nap and slept right through the rest of the storm, pleased with myself for investing in such a great tent, and with my risky decisions paying off. I can add hail to my resume of bad weather camping.

Leave me a comment below and tell me what you would have done in this situation. Stay put, or make a run for it?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Views From the Campground

Don't get me wrong, I love backcountry camping; no people, nice and quiet, and amazing views. But that doesn't mean I don't like camping in established campgrounds either. As a matter of fact, some established camps can have very few people in them and actually serve up amazing views. Take this shot of Great Sand Dunes National Park and the Sangre de Christo Mountain Range, taken from the front of my established campsite at the commercial campground just outside of the park's borders. Also, there were nearly no people around, even though it was a long weekend over the 4th of July. Established campground for the win!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about an established campground with great views. Seriously, I want camping ideas!

Lights and Magic Among the Dunes

Spellbound. I've really only just recently acquired the gear and the guts to start backpacking. Yes, I've been hiking tons, especially in the last two years, but until a few months ago I limited myself to day hikes and car camping. When I received my new 55 liter backpack for Christmas, however, I became determined to change that. I have a couple of backpacking trips under my belt now, and at the beginning of July my sister and I set out to accomplish another goal: backpack into the vast dune field of Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, set up camp, and spend a night among the dunes.

My sister hiking into the dunes

We queued up outside the wilderness office at 8am the morning we wanted a permit, and with little effort scored a backcountry permit for one night among the dunes. We spent the rest of the day exploring the area, heading into Alamosa for coffee, and otherwise preparing ourselves for the journey ahead. At last, it cooled off a little bit towards evening, and we set out. Following a little sand trail less than half a mile long we crossed Medano Creek in no time, and picked what we figured would be the easiest way up the front line of the dunes. It was still difficult, slow labor, where for every step forward you took a half-step back. Sand is not forgiving, and we struggled up, knowing we couldn't stop to make camp until we passed overr the first ridgeline of the dunes, and could no longer see the roads or buildings of the park.

Shadows and light playing on the sand

The first couple of bowls (dips between each sand dune) were occupied, and we moved past in search of solitude. We finally found it at the base of several tall dunes, though a steep climb to the ridge above showed us we had neighbors the next bowl over. We set up the tent, driving stakes into the sand with our heels, and boiled water for our dinner, watching as evening settled in around us. Before long the sand started burning a golden orange, and we quickly climbed the nearest dune to catch the sunset.

I mean really

We were not disappointed. As the sun sank the clouds blushed and peached against the still-blue sky until they darkened to deep purple as the sky turned navy. The sand burned brighter and the mountains to the east turned red with apenglow as the sun sank below the western horizon, down below the mountain range on the far side of the valley. The sky was shot through with color, then everything faded into shadow with the arrival of twilight. We didn't linger long after that, but made our steep way back down to the tent, ready to call it a night. We were up long enough to glimpse the first bright stars glimmering high above us, before zipping the fly closed and turning in. I was asleep within seconds of my head hitting the crumpled up clothes I was using as a pillow. 

The first rays of sun peeking over the Sangre de Christo Mountains

As is my usual, I was up before dawn and out of the tent to witness the sun rising on a new day. It was more of a gentle brightening, so that the mountains were silhouetted against the sky, before their outlines sharpened into relief and the sun began lighting up the eastern curves of their peaks. Then the sun rose above the mountain pass, and set a narrow corridor of dunes alight. After the obligatory sunrise photoshoot, my sister and I packed up camp and left the bowl without a trace of our occupation, save the impression of our tent and our many footprints. We walked the glowing ridgelines, enjoying the warmth of the sun after a chilly night, and trying to soak in the mountain views before leaving the park. Only with reluctance and many backward glances towards the dunes did we cross Medano Creek and trek back to our car, already thinking about the next time we coud make our way back into the magic of the dunes.

My sister pauses to soak in this

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Showoffs Can't Help Themselves

On our recent trip to Great Sand Dunes National Park my sister and I were treated to a bunch of teenage boys showing off. I mean, that's not anything new really, but the way in which they were showing their stuff was: running full pelt down the side of a very steep sand dune, watched and cheered on by their peers and everyone else who had a mind to climb High Dune. I'm sure the crowd only persuaded the boys (and a few girls) to show off, and I have to admit that I giggled a little too hard whenever one of them biffed it (as long as they were ok). Only one guy, the final one, got scrapped up pretty good when he face-planted partway down the dune. His mishap was enough to discourage any further showoffs.

Leave me a comment below and let me know if you'd run down that dune. I know I wouldn't!