I also went on Facebook and friended our new St. John's priest, a 54-year-old woman who graduated from Sewanee School of Theology and is a rector in Utah right now. She looks fun and likes to hike.
Friends Judith and Mary Ann and I hiked to Blue Lake on July 2nd to celebrate my 74th birthday. In about two and one-half miles we reached the lake, which sets just above treeline. It's one of the shortest and easiest ways to reach space where trees are left behind. It is a rocky trail, which we had forgotten when encouraging Mary Ann, who will turn eighty later this month, to join us. The lake is pictured here.
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| Look at my new hiking boots! |
After a gourmet lunch prepared by Judith (including champagne), we returned to a high meadow and enjoyed seeing the bull moose we saw last year in the same place. My camera had died at the lake (it's really dead), and I hadn't yet uploaded an app to improve my I-phone camera so no new photos of the moose.On July 4th, I drove to a flower hiking trail that's become a favorite, even though I've only been there three times. Butler Gulch is about ten miles beyond Empire, a village that looks as if it hasn't changed in 50 years, off Interstate 70 on highway 40 that leads to Berthoud Pass and Winter Park Resort. While it seems like a long drive (1.25 hours), it's shorter than going back to the Bear Lake Trails in RMNP. I didn't leave early so was between the early throng and the afternoon hikers. It looked as if it would rain in the afternoon.
I remembered that it was a thirty-minute hike to the first flower areas so I wasn't anxious. Soon columbines lined the path, dotted the first meadows and hugged stream banks, red and bright pink paintbrush mixed in. Chiming bells climbed hills and covered valleys. I was early for the monks hood, though I found a few blossoms on my way down. After fording a couple of creeks (and being thankful that my new boots are water proof), the rocky trail rises steeply. I met and chatted with a three-generation family on a 4th of July picnic, but lost them when I wanted down to the creek to take photos (with my new I-phone camera app). Again I stopped at the waterfall and took pictures. Making myself comfortable on a boulder, I realized that the clouds were closing in. I couldn't miss the flowered meadows that were up and around the next steep climb. 
As I crested the hill, my efforts were rewarded. Red paintbrush filled the high meadows.
I could have stopped then, but then I would have missed more flowered meadows and the flower-lined stream near the trail's end. A line of morning hikers were heading down. I ignored the thunder. It wasn't loud. Chatting with a couple whose dogs were determined to go up rather than down, I wondered if they were the last to leave. I would follow them down (though I wasn't ready to go). Then they hollered back that a couple was coming up the trail--and another and another came, ignoring the probability that rain might set in.
I hiked on to the stream where a friend and I had eaten lunch when I was there on a fall trek, took a long look, some photos, pulled out one-half a sandwich and took a few bites, and turned around to head back down as I felt a few large raindrops. Reaching trees, I sat on a boulder and pulled my poncho out of my backpack. I did take off my hat. Later I would realize that my sun glasses were on my head and must have fallen onto the ground as I squeezed the poncho over my head. I hurried down the steepest part of the trail, then realized that the sky was getting lighter. I sat by a stream and ate the rest of my lunch. As I exited the trail and headed to the parking lot, a few raindrops reached the ground. A couple joined me at the outside table where I enjoyed ice cream in Empire before starting the drive home. It had been a delightful day.
