たつむりそろそろ登れ富士の山

Slowly, snail, slowly climb Mount Fuji. –Kobayashi Issa

Our fearless adventurers donned their packs and headed up the trail. The altitude announced itself quickly as heart and breathing rates worked to keep up. The path started as a smooth, soft carpet of pine needles, a gentle rise through the forest, but then, as Gerry Roach might say, “the introduction was over” as they arrived at an imposing rocky ridge.

We go that way, said D.

For intrepid explorers, that’s always the way. It’s as though, given a choice, we choose the difficult, the labored breath, the rocky ridge, the clouds and the storm.

The day began in the middle of the night, with a dream about being extremely thirsty and accidentally gulping a bottle of bleach, searching for an ER, and discovering that none of the medical professionals seemed particularly alarmed: “It’s harmless in small amounts,” quipped they.

Thankfully, an alarm clock happened, the dream fizzled, and one bleary adventurer was left to ponder whether it was safe to mix “small amounts” of toothpaste and bleach.

D showed up to save the day, and with backpacks and sunblock loaded in the back of the car, the intrepid explorers hit the road, en route to Vail Pass.

Not much traffic. Sun rising peach and orange. Phones warning about “construction ahead,” and “a car on the shoulder in 3.2 miles.”

Along the way, they stopped for coffee at the amazingly well-stocked “Mountain Tool and Feed Country Store,”1 whose parking lot includes a bronze statue of a bear, some incredibly sturdy concrete cubes painted with idyllic scenes of mountain life, and a lot of trucks. Turns out they have some pretty good coffee. And you could get pretty much anything else you want there: sunblock, oxygen canisters, keychains, t-shirts, tire chains, flashlights, ice cream.

Back on the road to Floyd Hill, gargantuan post-apocalyptic concrete pillars loomed over the highway. This was the I70 Floyd Hill Project, a huge, multi-year road improvement project, designed to straighten the curves, ease the road grade, and improve safety.2

Through the Eisenhower Tunnel, up to Vail Pass, Exit 190, and two rock-strewn miles later, they arrived at the Shrine Ridge trailhead. Only one other car in the lot, its occupants already trudging up the trail. The phone said the temperature was 40-ish, but no way — the air felt more like 60, and nary a breath of wind. Peaks in every direction, pastoral clouds posing for renaissance paintings, as though dreaming they might someday become storms.

Back on the trail, our fearless adventurers huffed and puffed up the trail along the rocky outcropping. The views improved with every step: stop to catch your breath, and the view just takes it away again. Mountains everywhere: Copper Mountain, Pacific Peak, Quandary, Harvard, Elbert, Holy Cross. Eventually our fearless adventurers reached the “summit,” which was just a metal survey marker embedded in a rock. To the north, a rock pinnacle (likely the “shrine”) rose up from the valley below.

And a guy on a FaceTime call, because hey, we have three bars.

Ok fine, our fearless adventurers stepped around him, silent as the night — and you might not believe this — nary a grunt, not even a glare. Well, he finished eventually, signed off, and trudged down the trail.

S and D took the opportunity to grab a snack bar, gulp some water, take some summit photos. You know, the usual.

On the way down, something in the tundra. Fifty, sixty yards away, a head popped up from the grass, vanished again. And then slipped up onto on a rock, its mouth full of grass, and looked around.

D decided it was a stoat, and announced to everyone within earshot (basically, S), “It’s a stoat!”

Upon this proclamation, dear Reader, you might wonder, as did the group of hikers who stopped a moment later to peer with us at the mystery mammal: “What the heck is a stoat?” To which D set about describing the qualities and aspects of stoats: small, brown, high altitude, turns white in the winter, not a rabbit, not a marmot, not a pika. One hiker graciously observed, “is it sometimes called a ‘weasel?’” Why yes, exclaimed D, or in winter, an ermine!

This went on for a bit, discussing biology and etymology at 11,500’ in the middle of a tundra field, with a slight breeze and pleasant clouds.

S and D proclaimed “stoat” to be the word of the day, and throughout the entire descent and subsequent drive to Idaho Springs, our fearless adventurers brainstormed various stoat-ish phrases they could employ during lunch or group gatherings or future adventures or whatever:

• stoat on a stick

• bloated stoat

• a stoat in hand is worth…

D even added “stoat” to his family’s vaunted “anagram list” (cf., toast).

Henceforth along the trail, if anyone asked whether our intrepid explorers had seen any critters, well, they had an answer. Moose? Not a whiff. Stoats? As far as the eye can see.3

P2 Tommyknocker, Idaho Springs

On the way back down I-70, our intrepid explorers made note of the various license plates; in no particular order: NY, TX, ID, IA, MO, FL, MN, PA. PA had a URL, so S & D realized they’d have to check it out. But not while driving. This called for a stop at Tommyknocker Brewpub in Idaho Springs, ostensibly for lunch, but also to take advantage of their wifi to investigate PA’s website.

S had a salad, D had a cheeseburger, de rigeur. The website was ok, but needs wifi (not cellular) because it has video on the main page. Why the url is on the license plate, who knows.

Otherwise uneventful, and back by about 2pm.

And a rather successful BMO.

☶

Indeed, S and D headed up to the venerable Brainard Lake, on a Wednesday morning, no less, for a rare BMO adventure.

These days the park charges $16, egad, to wander around and admire the trees; thankfully, having the forethought to acquire lifetime senior national parks passes, our fearless adventurers paid only $2.

And admire the trees they did, especially the plethora of fallen trees — windblown, chopped, and sawn — imagining the sequences and circumstances of their unfortunate horizontality, as in, “tree A fell first, lodged in the Y-shaped branches of tree B, then tree C fell onto A, making an X, then D was cut down next to them…” etc. Ancient philosophers undoubtedly spent hours, or even lifetimes, pondering these random dendritic geometries, and never reached any particular conclusions. And neither did our fearless adventurers.

Also, no moose were seen. Let us just state that definitively, before anyone asks. No moose.

I mean, look at this perfectly nice and pleasant meadow. Seems like there’d be a moose in there, doesn’t it? But no.

People kept asking, and by “people” I mean fellow hikers, the majority of whom, one might surmise, had also taken advantage of their lifetime senior parks passes, “seen any moose yet?”

Egad. Look, it’s 9:00-ish, they don't come out until at least twilight, and in the meantime they hide in quiet meadows (such as the one shown above) behind brambles and junipers and willows, camouflaged in the shadows, nice and cool in the shade, and wait for the tourists to go home.

Well all this denial of moose sightings made our fearless adventurers conjure the notion of sewing themselves BNO Participant t-shirts with the slogan, “No we haven’t seen a moose today.” And on the back, “They only come out at night,” with maybe a scary font and a picture of a moose silhouette and a moon.

It also made them hungry, so off they went to Nederland.

P2. Ned Gen.

A reincarnation of the old Salto coffeeshop, now with more variety, wine, beer, and as their sign says, “some fine goods,” Ned Gen also has some hip and cool music. This gave S & D an excuse to open Shazam and raise their eyebrows at the song titles (such as, “Dunno”), while snarfing their brunches — D with a meat-head burrito (no, really), and S with something called avocado toast, which turned out to be more elaborate than its name would suggest. But it was also quite tasty.

And then you walk over to the counter and grab a fork and knife, and the knife looks like a switchblade (but isn’t), and you think about the song, and whether it’s hip hop or what, and think, “Dunno;” so I guess it’s apt.

The food was good, and so was the coffee. Sadly, it also absorbed whatever senior discounts had happened with the parks passes.

A lot of people with laptops, looking even cooler and more hip than the laptop-people at Neptune Cafe, almost a mile lower, if that’s even possible, to be more cool and hip, I mean: Neptune is pretty cool.

Then G showed up, on a lunch break from his job in Ned, and the intrepid trio set about comparing notes about aging and altitude and the menu and making custom t-shirts and stuff.

And guess what?

They all decided it was another successful B(M)O.

☶

Lord, grant us the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, blah blah blah.

—Serenity Prayer (paraphrased); Reinhold Niebuhr, 1892-1971

After weeks of dry weather and almost no rain, a brief Tuesday night rainshower awoke the region’s chlorophyl, while flora everywhere spouted new leaves and wafted like desert heat waves in the sunlight. Or so it appeared to our fearless adventurers, as they wandered down the Bobolink Trail, along with a plethora of joggers, dog walkers, cyclists, summer camps, and humidity.

The dogs and summer camp kids plunged into the creek, splashing New Zealand mud snails hither and yon, despite nearby warning signs advising them not to do so. Well, the dogs can’t read, so ok; and it’s summer, so the kids probably can’t read anything that’s not on their phones, so ok. Meanwhile, S and D gesticulated at the sign, and scowled, and grunted, and stomped their feet, and rolled their eyes.

So they decided to go to Neptune.

P2 Neptune Mountaineering.

S had an iced coffee and a healthy-looking blueberry muffin, while D had some coffee cake and a normal coffee. Rhiannon was on the radio when they arrived, then for some reason diverged into a few tracks of Van Morrison (which is like mud-snails for the ears), then on to Pink Floyd, so that was ok, and a reasonable way to conclude the day’s festivities.

☶

暑き日や道の小石も息をつく

This hot summer day—
even the tiny pebbles
stop and gasp for breath

—Kobayashi Issa

16 July 2026 South Mesa Trailhead • A dry, dusty, smoky summer so far, with fires everywhere and repressive heat every afternoon, and the only respite, on these high dry prairie trails, is to go higher. Or to go early.

Our fearless adventures attempted both, as they arrived at the South Mesa trailhead at 9:00, along with everyone else who didn’t have a day job, and even some of those who did, filling the parking lot.

A van-full of strapping youths, with hard hats and branch loppers, set upon the trail, lopping voraciously any branch that dared to waft across the trail, whereupon these youths took up these unfortunate loppages, and flung them wind-ward into the thicket. Where, with any luck, they might again take root. (But probably not.)

Meanwhile, S and D set forth, not quite knowing their destination, but hoping for the cool respite of a forest somewhere.

Well, within a kilometer or two, the trail escaped the grass and arrived at some trees. Some birds calling - mostly towhees - and a cool breeze, here and there. Also roving gangs of trail workers and their pickaxes.

A busy day on the trail. As our intrepid explorers approached these fearsome gangs, the call went out, from the front to back of the line, “Hikers!” At which these hearty laborers mostly stepped aside, as though for an ambulance or royalty or something; unless they were crowbarring a boulder or something. (One of them exclaimed, “Eeek a spider,” beneath the boulder she’d just heaved. Truly, is this a wild and unruly place.)

Anyway, our humble hikers somehow managed to traverse the throng without being impaled or crowbarred, nor even becoming overly egotistical, despite the deference of these dedicated trail workers. (Now, if they’d called out, “Hail, Intrepid Explorers!” we might have needed a bubble burst, but no, that didn’t happen.)

Thus passing the gauntlet, our intrepid explorers ascended the trail, into the forest, where a pleasant breeze cascaded the air, towhees chirped, squirrels chortled (?), and indeed, the cries of peregrine falcons echoed overhead.

Up the Bluestem trail, to the Mesa trail, then south to loop back around, a rather lengthy, undulating loop, and two hours later they were back to the trail workers, who were still lopping and flinging branches. The trail did look slightly more civilized, even on a hot, dry, and dusty mid-July morning such as this.

And in the end, there was a creek. And another successful BNO.

☶

Out here in the west, west of the Mississippi, west of the prairie, at least six wildfires have been raging for more than a week, and have blanketed the state in a thick haze of wood smoke. But finally today, someone somewhere danced a rain-dance, and the sky took notice, at long last, and washed the smoke away. And the air became breathable again.

So off we went to breathe some of it: paradoxically, to Skunk Canyon. A nice 3.5 mile hike with some elevation and scenery, and a pleasant jaunt midway along the “Roman Road” of Boulder, aka, the Mesa Trail.

Heard the familiar whir of hummingbirds overhead, but mostly calls of spotted towhees, that chirp-chirp-chip-trilllllllll. But the Merlin app has become de rigueur on Humpday, and so it listened, and nodded, and confirmed our suspicions: towhees.

The trail goes up through a valley (where one can hear most of the birds), winds up some switchbacks, then forks left to follow the canyon, or right to head up to a ridge and take the Kohler Trail to Mesa. Mesa rolls south to the NCAR trail and up a hill to “the Great Green Water Tower,” whereupon graffiti is rampant, most recently with at least twenty new markings of “Save NCAR.” We can only hope.

And then back down the fire access road to the NCAR road, and down to the car, there to declare another successful BNO.

☶

At sunrise on Oct 29, our fearless adventurers, D, S, and C, gathered on the corner of Hillside and Table Mesa, to commence what is perhaps the first ever Big SunRise Out (aka BSRO) in the long and storied history of Humpday.

And a frosty morning it was, the temperature hovering around 28°F. After the balmy summer temps of September and October, this frigid awakening was something of a shock.

Our group ascended the trail, sending a trio of deer scampering (?) up the hillside. Birds chattered and sang, sending greetings and poetry to all and sundry.

The morning chill faded, while echoes of frost clung to the grass in the north-facing shadows. Our intrepid explorers, clad in three layers more than required, found themselves over-heating as the sun climbed higher. Eventually they found their way to NCAR, and to breakfast.

P2. NCAR Mesa Cafe

Breakfast burritos, muffins, coffee, yogurt.

P1, again.

Descending back to Hillsdale. Fare thee well and adieu. A successful Inaugural BSRO!

Questions of the Hike

1. What mammals lived on Pangaea and did they end up inhabiting the various resulting continents?

☶

15 May 2025 Greenbelt Plateau Fear not, o Reader, for our Intrepid Explorers do still exist and have been hiking hither and yon, up and down hills, braving wind and rain as usual, and sunlight too.

The adventure today was supposed to be yesterday; it is, after all, Thursday. Well yesterday S and D headed over to the Greenbelt Plateau parking lot, glanced up at the virga hanging only a few hundred feet above, and decided to postpone until Thursday.

Well wouldn’t you know but Thursday had its own ideas, and nearly blew our fearless adventurers to Kansas, along with various songbirds, dandelion seeds, hiking hats, and memories of the cozy warm days of springtime.

Thursday’s wind chill was 37ºF.

Our intrepid explorers bundled up and marched down the trail, hanging on to their hats and to any anchors they could find along the way. Meanwhile, songbirds attempting to fly west were swept east. (Some birds tried flying east and vanished over the horizon.) Grass and trees bent eastward. Puddled water whipped into spray. The nearby windmills of NREL spun like they’d just been released into the sky.

Nevertheless, everyone persevered and returned to live another day. All in all, another successful BMO.

☶

11 December 2024 Bald Mountain D’s “Calendar of Summits” for today was empty, and so our fearless adventurers set forth on a quest to fill it.

One might ask, what is this “Calendar of Summits?” Well, read on. One of D’s many mountain goals is to summit a different mountain every day of the year. These summits don’t need to be completed in a single year, of course. Over the course of many years of hiking, D has completed 363 days of summits. Today, 11 Dec, was yet to be filled (the other two days are in March).

For today’s summit, D narrowed the choice to three candidate mountains nearby, and settled on Bald Mountain as the best option overall.

And because it was Wednesday, S joined him in the ascent. [1]

At 9am our intrepid explorers assembled for the trek. A roughly one hour drive, the parking for the Bald Mountain “trail” is simply a bend in the road. The so-called trail, meanwhile, is non-existent. D found the route on the “List of John” website, and loaded it into his gps device. This, along with a paper map (practically unheard of in this electronic era), guided our fearless adventurers steadfastly along the path.

A rather short hike, but steep, starting up a fairly steep gully filled with grass and branches. Then it turned east toward the summit, through a snow-filled woodland. Numerous sawn trunks and burned timbers, presumably an attempt by the Forest Service to thin the woodland and help prevent fires. Sporadic tracks of various animals, including (presumably) deer, rabbits, mice, and ravens. Great views of the Indian Peaks area to the west.

D kept a close eye on the GPS route, which mostly followed the ridge line from the top of the gully to the summit.

Then it was down again, following steps in the snow, and wending carefully down the gully to the car.

And then, guess what … ?

Phase 2

Yes, you read that correctly, today’s adventure included a Phase 2, at Salto Cafe in Nederland. S had granola, while D enjoyed a BLT. And coffee, to warm the bones.

And back down to Boulder, and the completion of another entry in the Summit Calendar, and another successful BNO.

Notes

1. Astute readers may recall (as this writer did not) that our fearless adventurers already summited something called “Bald Mountain” in Boulder County. In point of clarification, today’s adventure explored a completely different Bald Mountain, near Jamestown. Indeed, according to the Boulder County Open Space website: “This particular Bald Mountain is one of hundreds of summits of the same name in the country. There are over 300 Bald Mountains in the United States, close to 30 in Colorado and four in Boulder County alone.” For further information, readers are invited to explore this somewhat amusing list of Bald Mountains on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bald_Mountain

☶

16 October 2024 Boulder Valley Ranch A few months later, S and D found their way to Boulder Valley Ranch again. The parking lot swelled with a gathering of cyclists. all chortling and guffawing about various alleged trail upgrades.

Curious, S and D examined a nearby informational placard: some hashed lines, red and blue; the usual “you are here” arrow; a few paragraphs of small-font text. Basically unhelpful. Our fearless adventurers abandoned the placard, and set forth around the ranch. [1]

The trail was mostly free of cyclists, who had apparently gone elsewhere. Or perhaps stayed in the parking lot, lycra-clad and sipping tea. Anyway, some weather arrived, with wind, rain, and rainbows. Quite blustery, sending hawks and cottonwood fluff to dance around the sky. The rain was light, barely there.

Notes

1. Helpful information about the trail upgrades: https://www.bouldermountainbike.org/major-trail-improvements-coming-to-boulder-valley-ranch/

☶

8 August 2024 Greenbelt Plateau Under a foggy gray sky and light rain, S and D met at the Greenbelt Plateau trail. No one in the parking lot. No one on the trail. Just a cow. And some mud. And those little birds that run up the trail in front of you and then fly back into the field.

The only thing in the sky was the rain.

Traditionally, the first step before embarking on a trail is to review the rules and regulations listed on the trailhead sign, along with any other signs that may have been posted. Here at the intersection of the Greenbelt Plateau and High Plains trails, is a sign about not disturbing burrowing owls: Stay on the trail.

So of course the explorers made a point to stay between the lines, and grunt disapprovingly at the single-track trail running parallel to the main gravel trail. Well, maybe these both qualify as “the trail” to stay upon. But ya gotta grunt and scowl about something. It’s tradition.

At the end of the trail, a pelican. Two, actually, far off in Marshall Lake. As dusk fell, a nighthawk whirled past, its calls piercing the fog like a lonely, lost ghost.

The trail seemed longer and more tiring than our fearless adventurers remembered. Still some burned trees from the Marshall fire a few years back.

Twilight shrouded the plateau. Headlights from Highway 93 glowed in the fog like distant alien cities.

The intrepid explorers arrived back at the trailhead in darkness, and declared it another successful BNO.

24 July 2024 Eagle Trailhead A record number of fearless adventurers gathered at Eagle Trailhead for the annual firefly safari. S, D, and D2 were joined by KR, SM, M2, SR, and ER, all in search of the elusive Boulder County firefly.

After dowsing themselves with bug repellent, the octet headed westward to the usual pond at the east side of Boulder Valley Ranch. There, after spotting a glowing bug or two in the field, the group surmised that the population of humans quite probably outnumbered that of the elusive lightning bugs.

But there were a few, and that was enough for a reasonably successful BNO.

Addendum

Returning for another look Monday night, there were zero fireflies. However, the Milky Way was out, even if munged by the light pollution of Boulder. (Unfortunately not sharp focus; and considerable post-processing required to produce this image.)

26 Jun 2024 Shanahan Ridge A humid evening after a sudden burst of rain, and everything at Shanahan Ridge was decorated with dewdrops. Except for our fearless adventurers, of course, who trudged up and down the trail with umbrellas at the ready, but never needed.

Not too much else on the trail today. There was a new electric fence in one area near the trailhead. A few hikers and joggers. No dogs. At the end, some cows causing a ruckus, mooing like it was a saloon at happy hour.

Had a view of Denver, shining in the distance at sunset.

4.23 miles, 790 feet delta-e. Not bad.

☶

19 June 2024 Boulder Valley Ranch A cool summer day, low 70s with patches of rain, patches of purple crownvetch, patches of prairie, patches of sunlight. Then a stampede of cyclists clattered past, helpfully ringing their bells and calling “on your left.” Their cacophony of conversation had been audible several minutes before their passing, and thus S and D had already stepped well to the right.

The cyclists even called out thank you! What is the world coming to? An actual moment of civility under the patchy gray sky.

Even a passing jogger said hello. And the prairie dogs beeped cheerfully! And some birds chirped, and the cottonwoods emitted their cotton, and the flowers bloomed, and there was a tiny little snake (but not a rattlesnake), and it just S’d its way into the grass and vanished. And the wind blew and rain came down, but it was ok because there was a windmill, and because our intrepid explorers had umbrellas and hats and reasonably good moods.

At least until the end of the trail, where they encountered a locked gate. Locked! Who locks a gate these days? In this era of chirping birds and civilized cyclists? Nobody, that’s who.

Well, somebody didn’t get the memo.

Not to worry: our fearless adventurers simply parkoured over it.

Ok no. Perhaps they could build a quick trebuchet and sail over? Hmm, that would only work once. Maybe a stile? I mean, why not a stile?

Well, eventually they gave up searching for alternatives and did it the old fashioned way: by clambering over. Not without an assortment of old-man snorts and grunts, mind you; and I’m quite sure you’d expect no less, dear Reader, than a chorus of guttural snorts, the likes of which are usually reserved for harridans and poodles and people glued to their cell phones, but you know how it is: any opportunity to grunt or snort derisively these days is welcome. It’s a tradition, after all, issuing derisive grunts; yes let’s call it that, a tradition upheld.

So over the gate they went, plopped onto the road on the other side, then two steps to the parking lot, and another successful BNO.

Huzzah!

☶

12 Jun 2024 Foothills North At 6:30pm, in 90 degree windless weather, our fearless adventurers embarked on a tour of the Foothills trail, including both the north and the south segments.

At 6:36, the fearless adventurers became slightly less fearless, as the sudden and unmistakable sound of a rattle sizzled into the air. Needless to say, our daring duo immediately jumped backward several feet, away from the snake in the grass, which continued to coil and rattle. Well, at least until the twain stepped carefully around it, whereupon it slithered across the trail, providing a measuring stick of sorts, a gauge of size, as the snake stretched across at least 60% of the six foot wide path, making it around four feet long.

And so it headed north, while our adventurers continued west, each with a bit more situational awareness and vigilance.

Thankfully the remainder of the trail was relatively unremarkable, with only the usual birds, flowers, cyclists, runners, hikers, rabbits, and dogs. Also, a chinook helicopter flew past, which was pretty cool.

All in all, a very long but successful BNO.

☶

29 May 2024 Shanahan Ridge Clouds hovered low in the southern sky, dripping whimsical virga into the atmosphere, and decorating the traffic jam at Hwy 128 & 93, where the traffic lights had malfunctioned, and various deputies now posed on the asphalt, gesturing officiously at the traffic. Meanwhile the rain rose back into the sky, like a damp gray theatre curtain whose play had just begun.

Huh what?

Undeterred by the meandering narrative, our fearless adventurers sallied forth, to the venerable Shanahan Ridge trail. The goal was to reach the Mesa Trail.

Plenty of flowers, a few hikers and joggers. All the cattle gates were closed and chained, and no cattle to be seen. A deer or two, with budding velvet antlers. S and D trudged upward, past the mid-point sign, and another half mile from there to the Mesa Trail. Huzzah!

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Cross the gully, and some rain happened. Light rain in sunshine. Drops bouncing off a large spiderweb. Just a spritz on the leaves, for photography’s sake.

Then it was back down the south leg, and through the neighborhood at Hardscrabble Drive, bypassing the little up and downhill segment at the trailhead.

Four miles, 780 feet elevation gain. A goodly loop, and another successful BNO.

The scent of spring flowers lace the air as poppy, geranium, flax, wallflower are blooming en masse.

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All the better for huffing and puffing, these aromas, as our intrepid explorers made their way up the switchbacks and into the forest, whereupon the path became suddenly steeper. But not so steep that S and D could not persevere, as they arrived, relatively unscathed, at the Mesa Trail.

Now a choice to be made: go north along the Mesa Trail and intersect Kohler Mesa, returning via Kohler Spur; or head south, toward NCAR and loop back to the trailhead that way.

They chose the latter.

The Mesa Trail at this point is like a medieval road, paved with rough flagstone, all cut and hewn to the proper interlocking shapes. It must have been a big project.

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And then suddenly the flagstones stop, and it’s back to the usual dirt, boulders and roots giving texture to the path. And a daunting downhill section through the valley, to the NCAR trail. This then ascends back up to the Great Green Water Tower, and down to the fire access road, to the NCAR road, to the trailhead. Easy peasy. Well, with a bit of respiration and a few more heartbeats than usual.

3.5 miles, 682 ft elevation gain. Overall a goodly adventure, and another successful BNO.

15 May 2024 Teller Farm South Somewhere in a small patch of farmland, in the eastern wilds of Boulder County, a quintet of mostly fearless adventurers embarked on an adventure. The fivesome (C, R, Fortran, S, and D) assembled the prairie schooner and headed down the trail.

First stop, a rather murky Teller Lake. The presence of various fisher-folk along the banks suggested this pond might be good for fish.

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Then back to the trail, Some dappled horses in the distance. Scents of lilac and honey. A desert stink beetle, providing some yin to the lilac’s yang.

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Eventually the group turned around and headed back to the parking lot. Plenty of scenery to be had, a mild breeze, thunder in the distance. Everyone was a little tired, a little hungry.

But that’s the way it should be.

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All in all, another successful BNO.

Also, it was CU graduation week, and therefore the graduates and their families made the annual pilgrimage to Chautauqua Park, there to fling their tassels and mortarboards at the scenery.

All of this was unbeknownst to our fearless adventurers, who sometime earlier had planned to hike at Woods Quarry, due to its relatively challenging elevation gain, and location in the shelter of the trees. It was only upon arriving at the chock-full parking lot and rows of cars stacked along Baseline Road that they realized something was up.

Remarkably, D found an enviable spot at Chautauqua Dining Hall, and S grabbed a space just barely vacated by a departing BMW.

And up they went, along the Bluebell Trail, to the Mesa Trail, to the Woods Quarry Trail.

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Along the way, a goodly amount of elevation - around 720 feet. Also some tiny birds with black heads, which were not black-capped chickadees. Some joggers. A family or two. A dog here and there. Didn’t see any ticks. Brisk weather, 50-ish deg, chilly breeze. Jackets donned and doffed accordingly.

At the quarry, a few stone Adirondack chairs, like a Neanderthal spa. Amazing they’re still there, after all these years. These chairs will outlast us all.

After a few minutes relaxing on the rocks (and deciding where to place the camera), it was back down the trail. And then, halfway down, a fork onto the McClintock Trail, which descends toward the aforementioned Chautauqua Dining Hall, where D’s car was parked.

Hmm, a Dining Hall…

Are you, dear Reader, thinking what our fearless adventurers were thinking?

Phase 2: Chautauqua Dining Hall

Phase Two! Yes, after years of sack lunches and occasional mentions of food in conversation, our intrepid explorers opted for in-situ sustenance. Inconceivable.

“Reservations?” the host asked, to which S and D gave the usual smirk and guffaw. The host offered a choice: a seat inside at the bar, or a table out on the porch, in the wind. “The heat lamps are on,” added the host, possibly with a smirk of his own.

This lad was apparently unaware that fearless adventurers such as S and D fear neither the wind nor the rain, even if it’s pattering upon their cheeseburgers.

“Outside,” declared our heroic twain.

The heat lamps were indeed on, but heating the breeze, which blew eastward to the next table. Of course our intrepid explorers hardly noticed, or pretended not to notice, as they perused the menu. Everything looked good.

“Well hello!” exclaimed the waitress, clearly astonished at the fearlessness, apparel, or lack of youth, of our intrepid explorers.

D chose a burger of some kind, while S opted for a Southwest Black Bean Burger, without the sodium-laden southwestern accoutrements, please.

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And there you have it. A pleasant afternoon at Chautauqua, and an expensive but satisfying Phase Two.

Here’s to a new 2024 record elevation gain. And, another successful BNO.

Our fearless adventurers took a moment at the top to search for the airport, hidden in the atmospheric haze. It’s out there somewhere.

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The thermometer claimed it was warm (54℉). However, the wind was there, and so our fearless adventurers donned their layers, only to discover that actually, the wind wasn’t much of an issue. Hikers, cyclists, and joggers galavanted past in shorts and t-shirts.

Well humph. S and D would rather be warm than wind-chilled.

A horned lark was observed, hopping around the prairie dogs. A contrail slithered overhead, followed by its shadow.

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S and D rested at the turnaround point, and again at the bench. A bicyclist did some wheelies, not unlike a prairie dog on wheels. Mammals, you know: always cavorting.

Probably because it’s another successful BNO.