My Colorado Rooftops
By Mira Paul It’s early in the morning and my car’s headlights bounce up the dilapidated old road as I ease my tires over and around sizeable rocks, gullies, and ditches. Actually, I wouldn’t even call this a road; it’s more of an old miners’ trail leading up the mountain, winding through shadowy and sleeping woods concealing mysteries of which we might never know. Gradually, the sky above begins to lighten as dawn approaches and the last of the night’s stars fade into the twilight. The sun is just about to break over the horizon, and I speed up just a little more. Minutes later, I park my car by a familiar-looking trailhead sign, nestled snuggly into a large bowl surrounded by towering giants. Their peaks stretch into the rising sun like arms stretching the night’s stiffness away. I feel the chill in the air right away as I stretch hours of drive time out of my sluggish muscles. My breath drifts on the cool breeze for just a moment, then is whisked away into the ether. I quickly delve into a flurry of familiar activity: I lace up my trusted hiking boots, slip another sweater over my head, and heave my heavy pack onto my shoulders. One push of the button locks my car and I head up the trail, gravel grinding and crunching underfoot. Within minutes the trees have engulfed me, almost swallowed me up. I feel compelled to stop for just a moment and absorb the serenity and beauty of Colorado’s backcountry. The early-morning silence is omnipotent, broken only by the mountain stream gurgling and spilling its way down the hillside. A twig snaps on my right, and I turn to see an ethereal young buck with several does shadow-stepping through the dewy leaves. In the blink of an eye, they are gone. Another movement catches my eye: these are chickadees flitting through the low branches, and close behind them comes a tree squirrel, chatting animatedly. Ahead of me, the trail is alight with the morning sun, and I fill my lungs with the scent of sun-warmed pine needles, an aroma so representative of Colorado. I could stand in this grove of trees for eternity, but my destination waits, so I walk on. Just as quickly as the trees engulfed me earlier, they now release me from their enchantment as I emerge onto the soft and billowy alpine tundra. A sea of wildflowers spreads out before me, and I am once again tempted to allow the wilderness to cast its spell on me. But my journey through the lush meadow is brief, and soon I’m scaling a talus slope leading up the hunched shoulder of the mountain. Switchback after switchback leads me higher and higher, and the view grows progressively more spellbinding. I take a break, more to take in the vista than to catch my breath. Below me, a spectrum of color dances up the valley: vibrant mountain meadows dotted with ponds and a rainbow of wildflowers, emerald green forests draping the hills like blankets, and veins of silvery streams spilling down the valleys. Yet above me, that Colorado-blue sky beckons me to keep moving, and I can’t resist. The trail becomes steeper and slick sand and loose rocks make the going a bit more treacherous. I pace my steps to my breathing, to the beat of my heart, one step, one breath, one heartbeat at a time. My lungs gulp in what little oxygen is available in the thin air at nearly 14,000 feet. Every fiber in my being screams at me to stop, but I steadfastly refuse. To me, this is what being in the great outdoors is all about: finding your limits, and then pushing past them, to see what you are truly capable of doing. It is Nature’s gift to those adventurers willing to brave her greatest challenges. She will sternly shove you beyond your comfort zone so that you can become aware of your capabilities. Yet, Nature teaches us one more thing: humility. Whether you stand atop a 14,000-foot peak or amongst a forest within millions of trees, you cannot help but feel like you are just a visitor. A world much greater and vaster exists outside of our own, and we are merely lucky enough to partake in it. As my thoughts come back to earth, I briefly glance ahead of me and am surprised to suddenly be greeted with the skyline. I wonder, is this a notorious false summit, or have I arrived? There’s only one way to find out; I must push on. Minutes later I crest the wind-sheared ridge and I see the summit is within touching distance now. The trail winds lazily along the exposed ridge to a small outcropping of grey, craggy boulders. As I jog along the ridgeline, I feel almost like a bird soaring beneath the sky. In a last effort, I take a deep breath, spread my wings and fly towards my journey's end. I’m always astonished by how suddenly you arrive at the summit of a mountain. One moment you’re fighting your way along a steep and endless trail and the next you’re on top of the world. I drop my pack into the dirt and feast my eyes upon the sight. Fifteen years I have spent in Colorado’s backcountry, but I have yet to tire of this breathtaking view. Jagged earthy peaks reach into the sapphire sky all around me. Some still cling on to stubborn patches of snow from spring storms. Below me, thick green forests flood the valley. As I sit on the brow of this giant, with the wind brushing my face and the sun warming my back, I find all my worries floating away like storm clouds on a stiff breeze. My anxieties tumble down the mountainside like the echoing cries of the pika, only to be swallowed by the talus slopes below. My mind calms its frantic chatter, and my heart is content. Right here is my happiest of happy places, sitting on the rooftop of wild and beautiful Colorado. Originally from Germany, Mira Paul has made her home in Colorado for the last 15 years. She spends countless hours exploring Colorado’s incredible outdoors, though you will most often find her on a ridge leading to the summit of one of Colorado’s 14ers, all 54 of which she’d like to climb in the next few years. She narrates all of her adventures on her website, at www.mirapaul.weebly.com. |
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