Montgomery Pass

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.  ---Psalm 121

Satuday, February 25, 2012---that will be a day I will remember for a long time to come, to be sure.

It began like an ordinary Saturday. I had chosen not to go on the /r/coloradohikers group meetup this week. The organizer had scheduled a second trip up Bear Mountain outside Boulder---by popular demand he said---and although the "bear" theme was of course tempting to follow, I didn't feel like climbing that particular mountain again this week. For one thing, it's quite a steep and long ascent. Although I don't mind strenuous efforts, I was clearly the drag on the group last time and didn't feel like being in that spot again this week.

So I wound up dawdling away the early morning and didn't get out into the sunshine until after ten. All I had was a general inclination that I wanted to go snowshoeing, and my further inclination was to go up the Poudre Canyon to the summit at Cameron Pass. It would be a long drive, probably almost two hours, but driving up the Poudre is almost always a serene and beautiful experience, so I didn't mind how long it would take. Also there would surely be enough snow up there for a good snowshoeing trip.

The destination I had in mind was the Michigan Ditch trail at the very summit of the path. It is nearly flat and goes in for several miles. It would be a nice easy trip in and out, without too much exertion. But the scenery would be beautiful.

The roads in the canyon were almost completely clear, with ice in only a few places. I reached the summit of the pass around noon, parking in the parking lot at the trailhead at the summit. There were only three other cars there. It was indeed beautiful and sunny, but the wind was blowing ferociously in gusts, sending snow in great waves like mini blizzards. I sat there for several minutes contemplating my choices.

While I was there, I had the inevitable flashback that I was always have, when I parked at the summit of Cameron Pass, back to January 1987, when I was driving back to college in Oregon in my red Volkswagen Rabbit, the first car I ever owned. I parked at the summit of the pass on that trip, almost in the same spot, before going westward. It was one of those incredible road trips of my youth, during which so much happened in such a short time, and helped define my college experience. Among the things that happened was that later that day, on that same highway much further west, I spun out in my car for the only time in my life. The car landed in the ditch in the middle of nowhere. I was rescued in only a matter of minutes by pure chance by a passing truck, which pulled me out of the ditch without a scratch on me or the car.

After reminiscing like that for while, I finally decided that the wind was blowing too hard for a decent trip on the Michigan Ditch trail. So I headed back down the pass in the direction I had come, about a half mile, to another trailhead, which was sheltered from the wind. The parking lot was packed with cars.

I took out my Trails Illustrated Map of Cameron Pass and looked at my options. I could take the relatively flat trail on the south side of the road---that's what most people were probably skiing on that day, or I could take a trail across the road that went up a very steep incline a few miles to the summit of Montgomery Pass at the south end of the Medicine Bow Mountains.

My inclination was to take the high road. It would be strenuous, but I could go at my own pace, and it would surely be an awesome view once I got to the top.

So I took my snowshoes across the highway to the trailhead and put them on at the edge of the snow. Then I began marching into the trees and up the hill. It was indeed a beautiful trail, with the sun trickingly through the trees. On the way up, I passed several cross-country skiiers on the way down. One of them, an older gentleman, spontaneously warned me: "It's pretty windy up at the top."

I set a nice slow pace and after about two hours I could tell I was reaching the top. The snow grew very deep and in a few places I began to wonder if my snowshoes would provide enough flotation, but I never sank more than about eight inches downward, even in the powderiest section.

Just when I was wondering if I would ever reach the summit, I saw the tricking edge of the trees and a large snowfield ahead, with a peak behind it. This was surely the summit.

When I came to the edge of the trees, all of a sudden I could understand the warning I'd been given about the wind. It was blowing hard and steadily, with gusts that felt like a gale force coming right down off the top of the pass along the snowfield.

As I rounded the trees and came out onto the snowfield, I thought I was going to be knocked down in my snowshoes. At that point, to reach the top of the pass, I had to walk on the crunchy snowfield upward on the incline, straight into the wind. It was impossible even to keep my face upward. I had to look down at my feet and just keep putting one foot in front of the other, occasionally stealing glances upward to see how far I had to go.

Finally I reached the summit, where a small wooden sign indicating the top of the pass rocked back in forth in the constant wind. To the west, over the top of the pass, was a view over North Park toward the Rawah Range in the distance. It was incredible, but I could not look at it for more than a few seconds at a time because of the wind. I knew I had to get at least one good shot with my camera. My fingers nearly froze in place when I took my gloves off and held my smartphone up into the wind just long enough to attempt to get a shot. I couldn't even tell if I had gotten anything on the display.

At that moment, while putting my gloves back on, I looked around and saw beside me the towering summits of the mountains flanking the saddle of the pass. They were rocky and barren, covered with snow. As the wind blew around me, I had a sudden enormous feeling of the presence of the Creator, and understanding (yet again) of how one can experience the Creator this way so directly in the most barren of places, as Abraham surely did, so long ago. I felt humbled and the same time so lifted up by the presence of God. It made the trek to the top of the pass so completely worth while. Overcome by the emotion of it all, I struggled and knelt in the snow in prayer and thanked God for letting me experience this.

I wanted to linger, and looked for a place to hide from the wind, but the snowdrifts were sculptured so perfectly to provide no wind break. So having received the filling of the Spirit, I headed back down the snow field, now with the wind at my back. I noticed that my snowshoe tracks were almost completely invisible already from the blown snow that had covered them over, like sand at the beach.

In about five minutes I was back into the trees. At that point, my fingers began to warm up almost immediately and I was comfortable and relaxed all the way back down the trail at the road. I noticed when I got to the parking lot that the wind there had picked up quite a bit, and the snow was blowing there with the same force as it had been at the parking lot at the top of Cameron Pass several hours earlier.

I figured it had been a very good trek for the day and looked forward to a good meal. I knew there was a little hamlet called Gould on the other side of Cameron Pass where there was a restaurant, so I drove back up to the summit on the road and down the other side, at one time having to navigate a snow slide that had blocked half of the road.

When I got to Gould, I saw that the restaurant was closed for the winter with snowdrifts in front of it. So I turned around and went back up over Cameron Pass yet again and head down the road back towards home and civilization, thinking I would stop and get a bit to eat at one of the restaurants along the canyon highway.

As I drove down from the pass, I noticed that the wind had picked up even more. It began to feel like driving in a blizzard. Then all at once the wind would cease and it would be a sunny day again.

I was thinking about the day and how nice it had been, when I began to approach the trailhead where I had parked to reach Montgomery Pass. When it was still visible just head, all at once I felt my car begin to slide on the road on a patch of ice. At the same moment that my car began to slide out of control, the wind threw an incredible blast of snow over the road and within a half second, my car was completely shrouded with a whirlwind of blown snow. I could see only a few feet out of the car in front of me. It was as if I were inside a snowglobe.

In the midst of this blindness, I could feel the car sliding to the left, and I knew I was now in the wrong lane, helplessly moving forward down the hill at a fast clip, directly into blind snow without any sense of what might be ahead of me. I knew in an instant that if any car were in the oncoming lane, then I would see it only in a flash of an instant before we hit head on.

I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew that my life could end in an instant, and yet I felt completely at peace about that. Instead all I could think about was how I might be about to ruin someone else's day/month/year/life by my own stupidity, and how ashamed I would be about that.

Then after a few seconds of hurtling in the blindness of the oncoming lane, I felt my car begin to rotate, and to slide further to left. Now I knew that I was spinning off the road. In some ways, it was a relief, because I knew that at least I would be moving out of the way of any oncoming traffic.

Of course the idea of sliding off the road was not much appealing at all, especially since I couldn't see at all where I was going. Yet again I felt no panic---just resignation and a sense of "well, I guess we're going see where this goes."

The car spun completely around, so I could tell I was now facing uphill and moving sideways off the road. Just when I thought I was going to go off the edge of some embankment and was already calculating in my head about having to get my car out of the snow, my vehicle came to a gentle halt, as softly as a lamb lying down, halted by the snow at the edge of the road.

Finally it was over. After another second, the wind suddenly ceased and the snow around me dropped down and everything was clear. I was essentially parked along the road, facing uphill. It was as if I had simply pulled over beside the road, ironically only a few dozen feet from where I had put on my snowshoes a couple hours earlier.

I turned the key and the car started right up. With a glance along the clear road, I pulled out and turned around, to head downward away from the top of the pass.

You would think I would have felt all shaken about it, but I didn't feel anything of the sort, only great peace, and thankfulness above all that I hadn't ruined anyone else's day.

Of course I drove extra slowly as I descended down towards to the Poudre. It took about another minute until a car passed me in the opposite direction---a large pickup truck. I laughed when I saw the license plate---the unmistakable initials of a friend of mine with whom I had been recently corresponding by email.

I drove onwards about a half hour before I reached the first open restaurant, at the Glen Haven resort. After I pulled over into the muddy parking lot beside the highway and walked up to the door I was welcomed by a standing bear carving. Inside there were little bears on every day holding the salt and pepper shakers. I used a bear-shaped honey container to sugar up the hot tea I ordered.

While I waited for my burger and fries to arrive, I took out my smartphone and opened my Bible application. Since there was no connection in the canyon, I knew I wouldn't be able to access the particular translation I had been reading, since I hadn't downloaded it to the phone. I figured the application would simply open to a blank menu of the Bible, but instead, when the screen came up, I found myself looking at a passage that had loaded from the King James version that I downloaded and which was on the card in my phone.

The passage that came up was one I had not read in weeks. It was as if a passage had been selected for me at random. It was Psalm 121, which begins...

This week's bear

I knew I'd found the right classroom in Boulder High School for the after-movie discussion on Saturday evening when I saw what was on the door. I especially liked the New York City theme mixed in, as well as Bob Dylan (whom I've actually met and dined with, in 1993).

The Big Fix (2012)

Seen: last night at Boulder High School, as part of Boulder International Film Festival.

“The primary function of a theater is not to please itself, or even to please its audience. It is to serve talent.” Robert Brustein.

This week I had planned on going on the Saturday outing of my hiking group as usual, but I woke up at 4 a.m. and realized I might be on the verge of a scratchy throat. A little voice inside my head told me to forgo this week, and so I rose early and sent a message to the group organizer that I would see them next week probably.

Instead I decided to rest from the stress of the week, which had been more than usual. Still I needed something to get out of the house for, and perusing Facebook I noticed a status update from Occupy Boulder suggesting that people see the movie The Big Fix, which was showing this weekend as part of the Boulder International Film Festival.

The post had a link to the Youtube trailer for the movie (link) (which is not to be confused with the 1978 Richard Dreyfuss detective movie).When I clicked on the Youtube link, I was a little suspicious, because it was from a "green" organization and mentioned the threat of "climate change," which made my eyes roll. I'm still very much a supporter of legitimate environmental causes, but from my perspective the theory of man-made climate change is way, way overblown to the point of being, well, bunk. Most of the people I know working in anything related to "climate science" actually share this belief to some degree. Something really rotten is going on, if you ask me.

Fortunately it turned out the movie was not a documentary about climate change, but rather about the fiasco of the BP Deepwater Horizon well disaster in the Gulf of Mexico in 2010, and the injustice of it, and how big money has corrupted politics. Now that's a subject I can sink my teeth into, especially in regard to BP (formerly British Petroleum), which has close connections to a subject I've been researching for several years.

I had never heard of the Boulder International Film Festival, so naturally I was intrigued and went to their website (link), where I could buy tickets to the movie. Looking at the listings, I wished I had known about the festival sooner, but I thought it was good enough to catch a least one movie. Although I could have seen a different movie than The Big Fix, I thought it was appropriate to follow through on the initial random suggestion. Besides, how often do I get a chance to see a bona fide hippie-style environmental documentary in Boulder?

Much of the BIFF was taking place at the Boulder Theater, a nice venue to see movies downtown (and with a great neon sign), but The Big Fix was showing in the auditorium of Boulder High School. Since I'd recently been back to my own high school for productions (both the building I went to, as well as the new and inferior structure), I thought this would a nice continuation and contrast.

The high school was swarming with people with festival badges when I got there in the late afternoon. I went into the lobby and picked up my ticket at Will Call. One of the fun things about film festivals is that they are sort of a halfway phenomenon between live theater and movies.

Before the screening, I killed a few moments wandering down the hallway perusing the glass cases full of trophies from decades ago. It was nearly a carbon copy of a trophy case from my own high school just forty miles away, in a rather pleasingly fun way. Even the school colors are the same, but with the letter "B" instead of "C." It felt almost like being in a parallel universe (except our mascot was waaaayyyyy cooler, for the record).

The auditorium was about the same size as the one in my own high school as well. The ellipsoid lights hanging from the side brought a smile to my face.
Before the screening a guy from the festival came out and introduced it, and let the director (I think) speak for a few minutes. The guy from the festival said the movie was painful for him to watch, because he had been part of the Obama White House during the whole crisis, and could vouch for the truthfulness of some of the criticisms in the movie. Fortunately he made only passing mention of "climate change" and the need for "carbon solutions," which have nothing to do with the subject of real pollution and environmental degradation caused by high-level corruption.

The movie began with a short history of British Petroleum, which basically is synonymous with the history of 20th Century Iran. I was extremely pleased at the short history of the Iranian coup of 1953 and the involvement of western intelligence services.  Like I said, it's a subject that I have been researching very heavily for a number of years now in connection to a particular historical individual.

The movie itself was well-produced and professional. It was presented from a highly personal viewpoint, since the film maker was from Louisiana. The suffering of the residents was portrayed very poignantly, as was the malfeasance and indifference of the corporations and the government. I was fun sitting there watching a movie criticizing a Democrat president surrounded by a bunch of people who no doubt voted for him with great enthusiasm in 2008.

Still I thought the film felt short. It didn't really tell me much I didn't already know. For all its power, the paradigm of the movie was still wallowed in the old-school "oil companies are evil" thing. Why can't the government do something? In many ways, things are far worse, and far more corrupt, than were portrayed in the movie.

What was shown was only the tip of the iceberg, or the top of the oil slick, one might say. The message could have gone a lot further, but it was probably at exactly the right temperature for the aging hippie crowd of BIFF, which sees the world in a certain way where "oil companies" are the enemy.  They openly booed at the mention of the infamous Koch Brothers, who have become a convenient stalking horse for the liberals. If only we get out these bad apple rich guys...

The movie indeed hinted at the wider level of corruption, but really didn't explore it much. In the end, I thought the first few minutes of the history of Iran at the beginning were the most powerful. I wished the whole movie had been about that.

After the film, there was the normal question-and-answer session with the director. People from the audience came up to the microphone in front of the stage one after another. The level of the questions was about what I expected from a Boulder audience, and included things like: "how about the green organizations get together and endorse candidates in the upcoming election?" and "why can't the Pentagon get its gasoline from some other oil company than BP?" and "how can I boycott gas stations that use BP gasoline?"

From my seat in the auditorium, I wanted to go up to the microphone and say: "It's all way too late for any other these things. We are way past the point of no-return. We are just about to have a huge disastrous war with Iran, which no one here is mentioning, and all we can really do is spread the message of what is happening so that we can pick up the pieces after the disaster that is about to befall the entire nation."

But of course I didn't say any of those things. I didn't want to be a Cassandra. Maybe I should have said it, but I didn't.

At the end of the question-and-answer, the guy from the festival said that since this was a "Call to Action" movie, there would be a continuation of the discussion in one of the classrooms down the hallway.

I thought it would be fun to go, so on the way out of the auditorium, after depositing my ballot (I gave the movie 5 out of 5---why not?), I followed the signs down the hallway, and into a small classroom that appeared to be part of the English department of Boulder High School, or more specifically, the drama program, since the ceiling was covered with quotes about theater, including the one I cited at the top of this write-up.

I took a seat by a large poster of William Shakespeare from the 1993 Colorado Shakespeare Festival.  A discussion was led by a local woman who elicited possible political actions from the people in the room, all of which seemed as quaint and old fashioned as the ones that people had brought up in the auditorium.

Everyone there seemed very concerned about defeating the pipeline that was to bring oil form the Canadian tar sands. It was the most important thing to them, it seemed. I wanted to ask why, because I don't really understand this issue. Aren't they going to drill up that oil anyway? Doesn't this just mean we'll get more of our oil from overseas, shipped by water, instead of over land?

But I kept my mouth shut of course, and my mind started to drift, like a bad high school student. After a while I noticed that on the wall in back of me, beside the Shakespeare poster, were, much to my surprise, small drawings of Ancient Greek triremes, as well as one of the Trojan Horse. On the shelf next to me was a thick text book labeled "Mythology." As the people in the room debated about a letter-writing campaign to stop the pipeline they hated, I flipped open the book and read a few paragraphs about the aftermath of the Trojan War.

End note: looking up that quote from the ceiling, I found this other one from Robert Brustein: “Theatergoing is a communal act, movie going a solitary one.” 

Weighing in

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Today my Ultralight gear obsession took a new step with the purchase of a cheap kitchen scale at Wal-Mart. I've had a fish scale for a month, but it is useless for less than a pound. Now I can weigh my lighter items of gear. In case you're wondering the weight of a Trails Illustrated Map of Indian Peaks/Gold Hill, the answer is three ounces.

The bear who came to tea

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No shortage of bears on last weekend's hike up to the top of Lookout Mountain. The gift shop was full of black bears in various poses on the shelves around us as we ate. My favorite one was this one in the photo, however, guarding the cream next to the hot water dispenser. In the background one can almost make out the counter where one can purchase the aforementioned peanut butter cups. I can assure you the bear was quite friendly and generously allowed me to fill up my cup for my Earl Grey.

Chimney Gulch

Here we are, on our way up, with Golden in the background. My GoLite down jacket (size: XL, color: Chili Pepper) performed like a trooper keeping me warm in the 10 degree weather (rest assured I was wearing a hat/balaclava most of the time, but took them off for this photo.)

And here we are on the way back down, near the same spot, having paid our respects to Buffalo Bill (I insisted on toasting Mr. Cody with our beers afterward).

Lookout Mountain

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 Woke up before dawn this morning and saw it was ten degrees outside, and a fresh coating of powder out the window. Wasn't exactly enthused to be going out hiking, but got going on schedule and drove two hours down to Golden, where I was the first one at the trailhead.

There were four of us today---Jonathan, the organizer, as well as Andrew, an ex-New Yorker I met on the first hike, and Zanen (?), a Texan whom I hadn't met before.

We started off on the snowy trail up Chimney Gulch. Surprisingly they wanted me to take the lead and set the pace. It seems they were quite happy to have me do it, and were somewhat glad the hyperkinetic pace-setters from previous trips weren't there.

As it happens, I had done this hike before. Well part of it, at least. Last summer when I was living in Boulder, I went off an spontaneous drive one weekend and wound up in Golden, where I drove up Mount Zion and parked at the Windy Saddle, halfway up, then walked up the trail to the Buffalo Bill grave and museum at the top of Lookout Mountain.

This time we were starting down in Golden itself, not halfway up, yet it still strange to be hiking the same route as last summer. A redo, in a way. 

The hike up was beautiful. The newfallen powder looked like sugar coating on the trees, and in the sunlight, the blowing flakes made multiple colors, like some kind of LSD trip.

We made good time and found ourselves at the top around noon. By then the sun had come out fully. It was all of thirteen degrees, but I didn't feel it, because of all the exertion.

Even the though the rest of the group didn't care, I insisted we go inside the gift shop and the little restaurant at the top. I love that kind of cheesy tourist stuff. I makes me feel like it's 1972 and I'm traveling with my grandparents again. I even bought one of those smashed souvenir pennies there. I have a little collection of them that I began when I left New York seven years ago. It's not an obsession, just something I do whenever I remember to do it.

My favorite part of the day was when we were on our way up and stopped at on overlook looking down at the valley of Clear Creek, right as it comes out of the mountains towards Golden. I took the opportunity to give the group an impromptu five minute presentation on the history of the Colorado Gold Rush, one of my favorite historical topics. 

I took a Toblerone along this week, but I didn't even finish it. Turns out they have awesome peanut butter cups in the gift shop up there, as I had remembered from last summer. One of the great things about hiking is you don't have to worry about eating too much sugar. It's all guilt free.

Afterwards, at Andrew's invitation, we went down to the Old Chicago in Lakewood, where I had two pints of beer and loosened up enough to engage a lengthy fun-spirited debate with Andrew about religion and spirituality.

Ten degrees? Bah!

 

Thank You, Edward B.

A note found blowing in the wind, reprinted here:

If there is one thing about you that I have cherished above all else, it is your innocence. It is innocence that I felt in you, when I was in your presence. It was innocence that I felt in myself too, when I met you, that had seemed lost, but was refound whenever I was near you, and made me ashamed that I had ever lost it. It is your innocence that I miss most of all, for it replenishes me, even now, and makes me feel the world is new with each breath.


I know why things must the way they are. There is no mystery about that to me. Yet that does so little to lessen the sorrow I feel. Yet sorrow, like joy, is one of the two wings of human experience, as Rumi points out. How can we fly without them. Embrace your hurt to make it the greatest joy. You above anyone else have taught me this.


Thank you---for everything, for so long. You more than anyone else in my life have taught me what it feels like to feel myself connected to another person's life, and through that one connection---you---I have felt myself connected to the rest of humanity. How could I ask for anything more beautiful than that?


Innocence, yes, I know it is still in you, below everything else that may have clouded it over. It is still as strong as ever, still as pure as ever. To know that it still springs so pure is to feel a warm wind in my life every single day.


Thank you, yes. Thank you. Maybe I'll never get to tell you that in person, so I will throw it into the wind, like petals of a flower, and hope that the beauty of it finds it way to you somehow, in some roundabout way, in some beautiful sunny day, when the wind caresses your face, and the sunlight beams in your eyes once again.


I will be your friend forever.

Lady Moon

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 This week the Denver area got hit by a huge snowstorm, prompting the cancelation of this weeks reddit group hike, which was to be down in Golden.

But up in Larimer County the storm was much less severe, hardly more than the dumping we got in late October. By Saturday the roads were completely clear.

With no group hike, I thought I might just relax on Saturday. But by noon, I was more than a litte stir crazy. I got in my car and thought I'd go from a drive, like I used to back in high school. I wound up going up to Red Feather Lakes, into the Roosevelt National Forest area.

My snowshoes and gaiters were still in the trunk from last week, and when I passed the Lady Moon trailhead, I decided it was time to get a little exercise.

It was a perfect sunny afternoon. There was about a foot of snow on the ground, and there was already a nice little trench from previous snowshoers and cross country skiers. I didn't even have to use my poles.

The trench went about a mile along the trail before looping around. I didn't feel like blazing any new tracks in the powder, so I turned around and called it a day. I took this picture with smartphone on the way back, passing through a meadow. You can almost make out a woman crosscountry skier in the middle of the meadow.

The trail was very flat. Up near Red Feather, the terrain is a plateau, more or less, with small mountains poking up. It was the perfect amount of exercise before the sun went behind a cloud and the temperature started to drop.

A very nice afternoon. As I drove back through town, it occurred to me that the only thing missing this week was the ongoing "bear" theme. Just as I was thinking about this, and stopped at a stoplight, a van pulled up to my left. When I looked through the passenger window, I just burst out laughing. I couldn't beliee what I saw. Right through my passenger window was an enormous looming emblem of a standing ursine creature staring back at me with the words: Bear Archery. 


"Perfect,"  I muttered.