Category Archives: Uncategorized

Bird, what bird?

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Two ptarmigans on Pawnee Pass

Exhausted from my hike up Pawnee Pass, I stumbled along to a spot where I could sit down and take a break.  Breaking out my Kind Bars and some cheese, I sat and nibbled, while drinking water.  The hike had taken much more out of me than I had expected.  Still, the views of Lake Granby and the surrounding peaks made it all worth it.

Finally, I pulled myself up to make the trek back down to Brainard Lake.  Clouds were starting their usual march in for the afternoon, and I definitely did not want to be on the pass if and when thunderstorms rolled in.  Pulling on my pack, I gathered my trekking poles and started to walk back across the pass to the eastern side.

Out of the corner of my eye, something flitted across the ground.  It happened so quickly, I had trouble catching up with it.  I couldn’t locate it despite being certain it is close by.  Then another quick movement as it scurried across the trail.

Oh my gosh!  Now I know what it is – a ptarmigan!  As it crossed to the other side, it sat for a moment on a rock right next to the trail.  I quickly grabbed my cell phone, relishing a chance to take a photo up close of this elusive bird.  That’s when I realized, there are actually two of them, both sitting on rocks right next to each other.

I managed to snap off three photos in succession before they moved again.  As I looked at my photos, I marveled at their ability to camouflage themselves – if not for the shape of the beak, I really wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the bird and the rock.  Their speckled feathers provided the perfect disguise to meld into the background of the rocky pass.

In two months or so, they feathers would take on an entirely different color.  Ptarmigans, you see, don’t migrate like other birds who spend their summers in the Rocky Mountains.  They will spend their winters on the snowy tundra, adapting to their winter environment by turning entirely white.  Again, using their feather to blend in, and evade their predators that would like nothing better than to kill them for a tasty dinner.  Predators include lynx as well as larger raptors.

The smallest member of the grouse family, ptarmigans prefer walking to flying.  They lean towards a more sedentary lifestyle, especially in winter when they roost in snow banks.  You can find them in  habitat at or above timberline even in the harsh winter months. While they will eat buds, leaves and seeds of many plants, their favorite food is willow, which they are especially dependent on in winter.

Whatever the time of year, it’s a special treat to observe the ptarmigan in its native habitat.  But you must look long and hard – they are the masters of camouflage.

 

Chasing the Eclipse

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People arriving for eclipse at Fort Laramie Historical Park

I can’t sleep.  It is 3:30 a.m., 20 minutes before the alarm was set to go off, but I can’t sleep.

Today is the day.  The day the moon will pass in front of the sun, blocking out the sun entirely for a full two minutes.  It will be a total eclipse passing from coast to coast over the course of 90 minutes.  A chance to see the corona surrounding the sun like a golden halo.

It’s dark, but I hear doors slamming in the hallway of the Days Inn that we have spent a mere 4 hours sleeping in our room.  Our biggest fear is not making it to the Path of Totality in time to witness this glorious event.

So we push off with our two friends from Chicago, making our way up Highway 85.  After much debate about our viewing location, we have decided on Fort Laramie National Historical Park.  We quickly eliminated Glendo State Park, when we heard they were expecting over 100,000 people.  We considered Guernsey State Park, but with our two dogs in tow, decided it was too hot there with not enough shade.

And so Fort Laramie it is.  During the morning drive, things went smoothly, with traffic moving along at a rapid 60 mph.  The parade of headlights at 5 a.m. traveling this desolate road in the middle of nowhere, seemd vaguely reminiscent of The Field of Dreams.  But this time, nature is providing us with the spectacle that we have come from far and wide to witness.  Before we knew it, we arrive in Torrington, stopping at a convenience store at 6 a.m. with a myriad of eclipse chasers, mostly from Colorado.

Things slow down quite a bit once we arrived at the Fort as we wait in a long line of people, following an impromptu dirt path to a field of parked cars.  The atmosphere feels like a college football game, with people equipped with lawn chairs, blankets, coolers and food.  Everyone seems excited, and this day we will experience the feeling of a win.

What a relief!  We made it to the Path of Totality.  I feel so excited to know we are here in plenty of time and would see the eclipse.

We stroll around, reading signs, going to the creek, finally parking ourselves under an immense cottonwood tree near the west side of the fort.  A refreshing breeze blows through the quadrangle, as we sit with the dogs in the shade.

Then it is 10:42 a.m.  Time for the eclipse to begin.  I’m surprised, because very few people are here at this side of the fort.  It’s like we are having our very own private viewing experience.  I had expected to be shoulder to shoulder with thousands of people.

We don our eclipse glasses staring up at the glowing orb in the crystal blue sky.  A tiny nibble appears in the upper right of the sun.  Then it grows, looking much like a googly eye.

As the minutes elapse, a crescent form appears.  My brain, so well trained from staring at the moon, says – yes, the crescent moon.  But no, it’s a crescent sun!  Wow, that is so cool.

As the moon continues its march creeping in front of the sun, the crescent is shrinking, looking little more than an eyelash.  We’re down to less than 10 minutes until Totality, and I’m getting goose bumps thinking about it.

The sky to the west is looking darker and darker, and I feel enveloped by the wave of darkness that is descending upon us as it sweeps across the field.  I begin to hear crickets chirping from the nearby river.  And then it happens — it’s dark, like dusk right after the sun sets.

A massive roar arises from the crowd.  Clapping and cheering!  I look up and see the Corona around the sun.  A ring of fire is glowing around it.  OH MY GOD!

It is magical, awe-inspiring.  This moment is like nothing else I have ever experienced on planet earth.  WOW!  We dance around, whooping.  I see Venus pop out, just like at night.

“There’s Venus, there’s another star!”

Before I know it, the two minutes are over and the sun is out again.  That quickly,  it is all over.  I peer up through my eclipse glasses, and it’s just a thin eyelash on the other side, but so bright without my glasses, I can hardly tell.

Now I know what all the hype is about.  Now I know why you must go to the Path of Totality.  I feel changed forever for the magnificence I have just witnessed.  It’s one of the best days of my life.

Only seven more years for another magical moment in the sky.

Eclipse hysteria

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I frantically look for my wallet as I click the mouse pad.  I fill out my name, address and credit card and click again.  Arrggh!   I looked at the screen and see those dreaded words.  No rooms available at this time. 

“Maybe we should try calling all the motels in the off chance they just got a cancellation.”

And so we go down the list — Best Western, Super 8, Quality Inn, La Quinta.  Of course, to add to the complexity of the situation, we need to find something pet friendly as we are bringing the two dogs with us.  Even our dog sitter and her husband are going to Wyoming for the eclipse.  It feels like the entire state of Colorado is heading north for the day.

Finally, we get to Motel 6.

I’m still surfing the Internet in hopes I find something, but listening to Bryon on the phone.

“You have something?  What do I need to do to make the reservation?”

I see him scrawling something down on a piece of paper.

“Do they have a room?”

“Yep, we got a room. ”

I’m still not convinced, and we wait earnestly for the email confirmation to come.  Then I worry that we mistakenly reserved the wrong night.  But as I study the email again, there are the words, Checking in Aug. 20 for one night, checking out Aug. 21.  Success!

I don’t think I have ever been so thrilled to get a room at a Motel 6 in my entire life.  But this is different.  We actually got a room in Wyoming the night before a total eclipse passes through the state.

It’s not like we’ve been lax about this.  Bryon is an astronomy nerd and started talking about this eclipse almost two years ago.  But a lot of places wouldn’t let you reserve until one year in advance, and I had hopes of us camping somewhere.  But then the campsites got booked for the whole weekend and I have to work Saturday and Sunday.

So last winter, when we realized we couldn’t find any available motel rooms in Wyoming for less than several hundred dollars, we reserved a room in Fort Collins instead.  At the time, it seemed reasonable.  After all, it’s only a 2 1/2 hour drive to the Path of Totality from there.  That is on a normal day with normal traffic patterns.

In the meantime, we scouted for locations within the elusive “Path of Totality.”  There were several state parks, and as I researched them, I found out they were selling Eclipse Packages.  This provided you a car pass insuring your admission the day of the eclipse.  Two weeks later, I got my car pass, and two pairs of eclipse glasses.

Those eclipse glasses would be worth their weight in gold, as I found out this week, when everyone seemed to need glasses.  My mother called me, telling me the glasses she ordered through Amazon were apparently fake, and she couldn’t use them.  Later, a good friend said she was looking for glasses, but couldn’t find any.  Bryon’s co-worker had been equally stymied.  At this point, you could probably sell those silly cardboard glasses for bucket loads of money.

But the last several weeks, eclipse hysteria has set in, and Fort Collins didn’t seem so good.  I read reports of more than 600,000 people descending on Wyoming for the eclipse.  I envision a giant traffic jam on I-25.  Newspaper stories say to give yourself five times the normal amount of time to get anywhere.  People are saying gas stations will run out of gas and restaurants will run out of food.  We are now planning to take extra gas, coolers, and other supplies with us, just in case we are stranded for hours on the highway.

We started thinking about driving straight through Sunday night and pulling over in some parking lot to sleep in our cars.  But I also had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, there would be some cancellations at the last minute.

When I attended the Olympics in Salt Lake City in 2002, the same thing happened.  Everything was booked 1-2 years in advance.  But then the week the Olympics started, a few rooms came open.  We just called around to a bunch of hotels and found an open room one night.  I had hoped the same thing would happen.

So we got our room in Cheyenne.  It would still be 1 1/2 hours to our planned destination of Guernsey State Park.  Bryon is still saying we should get up at 3 a.m. and hit the road.   We must do whatever means necessary to get to the promised land.

More will be revealed….

The Tishma method

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It is one of those days.  One of those days when I just don’t have my normal spring in my step.  I planned an ambitious hike up Pawnee Pass as part of my wilderness patrol for the Forest Service.  I so wanted to have one of those good days, when hiking is effortless, and the miles just pass underneath my feet.  But no, it is a low energy day, and if I am going to make the pass, I must resort to the Tishma method.

Working as a volunteer coordinator at Rocky Mountain National Park, I became acquainted with the persona of Walter Tishma.  I wish I could say I got to know him personally.  But I actually got to know who Walter Tishma was posthumously, after he passed away.  As one of Rocky’s long-term volunteers, many volunteers knew him well and enthusiastically shared their favorite memories of Walter.  Attending his memorial service on behalf of the park enlightened me even more.  It made me sure if I had known him, I would have liked him very much.

Walter spend most of his time volunteering at Longs Peak, hiking the Longs Peak Trail and working at the ranger station.  Summiting Longs Peak a mind-boggling 113 times, he became intimately acquainted with every inch of the infamous Keyhole Route.  Walter hiked well into his 80s.  Fellow Rocky volunteers share with me that many had asked how he continued to attain the summit as he got older.  He replied that when he couldn’t go as fast, he vowed to just keep moving by going “heel to toe, heel to toe.”

As we all get older, it can be hard to keep putting ourselves out there.  We can’t sprint up mountain peaks, or reel off a 13-mile hike in just a few hours.  Everything is just a little bit harder. But I don’t want that to stop me from enjoying the beauty of Colorado.  I plan to keep hiking the trails until I physically can’t walk anymore.

So when I’m straining up the last mile on a Fourteener (14,000-foot summit), or just having a challenging day energy-wise, I think of Walter.  I think of him hiking Longs Peak as an elderly man in his 70s.  Going slowly, but still going.  And I vow if he could do it, I can too.  And I go slowly, but keep moving, putting one foot in front of the other, heel to toe, heel to toe.

In the words of Walter, “Persevere, you must persevere.”  

 

Playing by the rules

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Driving down the Summer Road, I contemplated my work day in front of me.  Sometimes, I am so preoccupied with my thoughts, I don’t even take note of my surroundings.  Suddenly, I spotted a truck with a trailer parked on the last switchback, and I snapped back to the present moment.  Why was a truck parked on the Summer Road with a trailer full of two by fours?

Then when I realized where the truck was parked, I got angry, very angry.  They are back at it again. Even after a Stop Work Order had been issued and posted prominently on the tree.  They brazenly flaunted the regulations.  They were not playing by the rules.

Building in Boulder County can be frustrating at times.  When building in a wildfire zone, many requirements are made of property owners to build according to regulations and also in keeping with wildfire mitigation.  But I’ve grown to appreciate a lot of those requirements in hind sight.

After the Black Tiger Fire of 1989, the county required new homes to have Class A ignition-resistant roofs constructed.  Since ember showers can be a main source of setting a building on fire, and roofs on alpine homes have a lot of surface area, just this one requirement could save a home from possibly burning down.  Our home, built in 1992, has such a roof.

Those of us who have dealt with the county on building additions or decks, know that attaining a building permit can be a somewhat long and exhaustive process.  So when a tract of land was purchased along the Summer Road, and literally the next day, trees were being cut down and a road constructed, we knew something was terribly amiss.

Knowing they couldn’t possibly have gotten a permit that fast was one thing.  But anyone who’s lived in Nederland knows you wouldn’t want to depend on building your driveway into the Summer Road.  There’s a reason it’s called the Summer Road, because during winter when it snows, it becomes a crazy bobsled ride of sliding cars ending up in ditches.  In fact, the Summer Road closed for weeks at a time, when a car flipped on it, blocking the entire road.

It’s also a private access road maintained by the HOA of St. Anton Highlands and is paid for by the residents.  The aforementioned property, while adjacent to the road, is not part of the HOA, and therefore technically shouldn’t even be driving the road, much less causing damage to it by pulling heavy trailers up it.

After numerous phone calls to the county land use department by several residents, a Stop Work Order was issued for the violation of building a road without a permit.  The work had presumably stopped for a couple of weeks, when I didn’t see any further activity.  But today, there is the truck and the trailer.  I fumed.

We had played by the rules, despite the headaches of waiting on a permit, constant inspections and extra cost.  My neighbors and friends had played by the rules, even those whose homes burned down in a wildfire.  These people (who presumably are from out of state) are not playing by the rules.  It is not ok.  It is definitely not ok.

If you’re reading this, please join me in calling the county land use department.  Everyone should play by the rules.

Place Names

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Mt. Evans, names after John Evans, govern of the territory of Colorado and leader in construction of the railroad

Out on a hike with my good friends Linda and Larry, we stopped to take a break.  As we snacked on power bars and trail mix, we gazed upon the high peaks that seemed to surround us in each direction.  We pulled out a map to look up the names of the peaks, as well as some of the surrounding lakes.  Florence Lake, Alta Peak — where do the names come from?

Some white person many years ago came upon these peaks and decided to bestow it with a name.  Many times, lakes and peaks got bestowed with the name of a daughter or beloved wife.  Of course, for every peak that got named by an explorer, names were already given by the Native Americans who frequented the land far before white people came.

One of the more interesting stories I ever heard about a name had to do with Yosemite National Park. While attending a ranger program, I learned the story behind the name Yosemite.  Yosemite is an Indian word, that white people thought meant “grizzly” as in grizzly bear because they heard the Indians saying it.  In fact, the word the Indians were saying translated to something else entirely — “there are killers among them” – a reference to the white people who were invading their hunting lands.

Other times, names are more generic.  Seems like in the Rocky Mountains, there are a million Crater Lakes, with Blue Lake rivaling it in terms of frequency.  Those are not so hard to figure out how they got their names.  The color of many of our alpine lakes can be stunningly blue or aquamarine.  But where the blue comes from is more interesting.

This description from another blog describes it best — it’s the glaciers and the melting snow and ice that give it the intense blue color from the ground up rock that stays on the service, and how it reflects light.  One of the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen in the mountains, Precipice Lake, had this impossibly green-blue color that defied reality.  Its name comes from its location hanging just below the crest of the Sierra the Great Western Divide.

My home town of Nederland itself has its own interesting story behind its names that harkens back to the days of mining.  When a silver strike led to boom town of Caribou four miles west of Nederland, they needed a mill built closer to process the silver ore.  A mill was built 2000 feet below the silver mines.  Dutch investors bought out the mines in 1873 and started referring to the area where the mill was as the “low-lands” or Nederland.  Netherlands translated into Dutch is Nederland.  Despite the town  having several other names including Brownsville, Dayton, and Middle Boulder Crossing, Nederland stuck.

If you want to know more about place names in Colorado, consider consulting a great book called Colorado Place Names by William Bright.  You can find out about your favorite mountain towns, peaks or lakes from Leadville to Longs Peak to Brainard Lake.  (Hint, many are names after famous military men or explorers).

Who knows, maybe one day I’ll discover a previously undiscovered peak of my own and name it Mt. Leslie?

Fall is coming…

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I woke to feel the cool of the air that filled our bedroom from the open window.  The temperature — a brisk 46 degrees.  The patter of rain on the skylight made me feel all snug in my bed.  I found it difficult to roust myself from the warmth of the covers.  This particular morning reminded me that fall is coming — maybe sooner than I think.

Making myself a cup of coffee, I sat down to the dining room table, watching the puddles form in the driveway.  Glancing out the kitchen window, wisps of cloud like tufts of cotton candy, hung in the valleys between the ridges.  The grasses that dried out last month, turning a lifeless brown color, are starting to revive with green once again.  The fire ban for the county has been lifted, and the little arrow on the fire danger circle points to the green LOW.

And tonight?  As temperatures barely broke 50 today, the house that normally would be warm from the sun’s rays has remained a temperate 64 degrees.  As I drive the roads around Nederland, little wafts of smoke are popping up from people’s chimneys — signs of wood stoves being used for the first time since May.

Days like these remind me of what I love about our little log home on the ridge.  Days like these provide a sense of comfort and snugness that all is right with the world.  I want nothing more than to sip my tea or coffee, grab a blanket, and curl up with a good book.

But as I don my rain jacket to take the dogs out (they don’t care that it’s cold and raining), the world smells fresh and new.  For this one day, the dust, dirt and pollen have been washed away, and the flowers and trees drink in this much needed moisture.

Fall is coming….

What is wilderness?

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Skyscraper Reservoir in the Indian Peaks Wilderness

As I walked down the trail, I glimpse the sign in the distance.  Weathered, the light brown color fading, it marks a special boundary.  Indian Peaks Wilderness.  While this sign in simple terms means relatively little, in larger terms wilderness symbolizes so much more.  Particularly in the world we live in now, of overcrowded cities, and an ever increasing reliance on technology.

The Wilderness Act of 1964, created the National Wilderness Preservation System and defined wilderness as “an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain.” The Act further specified wilderness as “an area of undeveloped Federal land retaining its primeval character and influence without permanent improvements or human habitation, which is protected and managed so as to preserve its natural conditions . . . .”

With 765 distinct wilderness area, wilderness now encompasses over 100 million acres of federal lands.  These wilderness areas are managed by several different federal agencies — Forest Service, BLM, National Park Service and the US Fish and Wildlife Service.  Wilderness areas don’t happen overnight, they are passed as legislation with only congress being able to designate wilderness.

For me, living in Nederland, I have become intimately acquainted with the Indian Peaks Wilderness.  I refer affectionately to the Indian Peaks as my back yard, with the nearest trail head being a mere 15 minutes from my home.  Designated in 1978 with wilderness protection, it is now one of the most visited wilderness areas in the country due to its close proximity to Denver and Boulder.

Most wilderness areas prohibit the use of motorized equipment, as well as prohibiting the building of permanent roads.  For me, I treasure the quiet of the wilderness — a place where I can go and contemplate in peace, with only the sounds of nature to accompany me.  Whatever my stresses or problems, a hike in wilderness grounds me and washes away my fears, reminding me of all that is beautiful around me.  Wilderness comforts me, knowing it is the quintessential primeval forest.

I also find that I connect with my spirituality in wilderness.  Being out in the wild, enjoying the majesty of the mountains, the quiet splendor of an alpine lake, or watching a pika gather grass for its winter cache all remind me there is something else greater than me in this world.  Something big enough to create nature’s own cathedral.  Something big enough to help me find solutions to my biggest problems.

For people living in  urban areas, wilderness can take them away from the noise and hectic nature of the city.  It’s a place to reconnect with nature, something scientists tell us bring about greater contentment and better health.

Today, most people treasure the beauty and solitude of wilderness.  But is wasn’t always so.  Early pioneers feared wilderness as a “dark and dismal place” with wild beasts who could harm you.  There was so much unknown about the wild.  And what is unknown is often feared.

As we become attache to our computer and smart phones, it becomes important to unplug ourselves.  A walk in the wilderness teaches us a simpler way of life, even if only for two or three hours.  We are present and tuned in.  Enjoy!

 

Bears Forever Wild

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Weary from the day’s backpack, after setting up my tent, I popped open the lid on the bear canister and wandered over to a rock to plop down.  I needed a moment to rest my aching back before pulling out my food and beginning the dinner routine.  With the sun setting, the shadows were lengthening and the light went fast, with dusk descending on our camp.

A small movement out of the corner of my eye brought me out of my stupor quickly.  A bear crept ever so stealthily, without a noise into our camp.  He headed straight towards my open bear canister.  Oh my God!  That had a week’s worth of food that I had just picked up at Tuolumne Meadows!  I could not let that bear get my food.

That’s when all my Park Ranger training kicked into gear.  All those days of presenting Bears Forever Wild to visitors of Sequoia National Park came flooding back to me.

I jumped up and grabbed some rocks, pelting the bear.  At the same time, I yelled at the top of my lungs.

“Go away Bear!  Get away from my food!  Get out of here!”

I stood on top of the rock, waving my arms frantically, trying to look big, yelling even louder.  That bear could not get my food!

“Get out of this camp!  Go away!”

I stepped up the barrage of rocks at him, some finding their target as they hit him in the mid side.  Plunk!  Plunk!

Finally, he gave up and moved off into the darkness of the nearby woods.

Whew! Crisis averted.

Yesterday, as I headed for a morning hike out of Hessie Trailhead near Nederland, the above incident came to mind.  Though my close call from years ago came in the Sierra in California, it could have just as easily happened here in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

Bear activity is high this summer in the Indian Peaks Wilderness.  Not surprising, as we have already seen several black bears near our neighborhood and in nearby Boulder Canyon.

Campers and backpackers need to take special care when camping in the wilderness area.  When I first went backpacking as a young woman, people used to hang their food using the counter-balance method.  I never could quite get the “hang” of it, as it required numerous rope tosses with a rock tied to it over a branch of a the tree.  The tree branch needed to be high enough that when your food hung, it couldn’t be reached by a bear.  You hung two stuff sacks on either end of the rope, thus “balancing” it.  I spent 30 minutes at least just trying to get the first rope toss over the right branch.

Now, the bears are too smart.  They figured out how to snap or chew the tree branch, thus bringing down their reward.  In the western U.S., it’s standard protocol to carry a bear canister.  Bear canisters are rigid, hard cylinders that the bear can’t get a claw into and can’t open.  They are also quite bulky as well as weighty, so a general pain in the butt to fit into your backpack.

But  in my opinion, they are well worth the peace of mind they bring.  You put your food in them, stash the canister 50 feet or so from your tent, and enjoy a good night’s sleep.  In the morning, your canister is safe and sound as is your food.  Note — do not store said canister at the edge of a cliff, as they can roll easily if gently nudged.  They also make a fine seat to sit on while enjoying your evening camp meal.

For car campers, pretty much all campgrounds have bear boxes to store your food in.  It’s important not to leave any food visible in your car, or anything that looks like food.  Even an empty ice cooler can be enough to lure a bear to break into your car, smashing your window, and peeling back the window frame as if it is a sardine can.

When I worked at Sequoia National Park, the Park Rangers walked the campground in the morning, talking to campers who had their car broken into.  Adults would swear they had not left any food in the car, only to have little Johnny speak up.

“But mom, remember, we left the box of Cap’n Crunch in the back seat?”

Oh, the honesty and innocence of a child….

I love living in wildlife habitat and having access to some of the most beautiful scenery and wilderness in the country twenty minutes from my door.  But I want to enjoy that without leading to danger for fellow backpacker and campers, and also danger for a bear.  Once a bear goes after a person, that is their death warrant.  Let’s do what we can do to keep the bears forever wild.

The remarkably resilient Aspen

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Aspens sprouting in the burn scar

Among the blackened trees, a lot of green is popping up from the ground.  Green grass, green wildflowers, and yes, even green trees.  Green sprouts right from the base of the blackened trunks, bursting with shimmering leaves.

The bulk of the green are aspen suckers sprouting right from the base of a grove of aspen burned by last summer’s Cold Springs Wildfire.  Aspen are one of the most resilient trees growing in the Rocky Mountains.  And the last year around Nederland has proven that to be true in many ways.

Just two months ago, we received one of the season’s largest snowstorms, with three feet of snow falling over a 24-hour period.  Occurring on May 19, after a run of warm weather, the Aspen had already fully leafed out.

As I walked the road in front of our house, many aspen bowed over the road from the weight of the snow, forming leafy archways.  A neighbor who lives in the burn area had just planted new mature aspen around their home, frantically brushed at the snow weighing the aspen down.  Part of me felt like I needed to protect them as well, as I grabbed branches and shook the snow off.

Amazingly, though a few aspen did break, most survived this snowfall just fine.  One week later, with the snow gone, the Aspen sprung back up to their original form and resumed their spring growth.

Aspen can grow in a variety of life zones and areas of Colorado, from the base of the foothills up into the subalpine just below the tundra.  While they love water and do well along streams and rivers, they are hardy enough to grow along ridges and on sunny slopes as well.  Where we cut down pines near our home, aspen immediately filled in the gaps, thriving on the sun and lack of competition.

But perhaps nothing tests the hardiness of aspen like a wildfire does.  After assessing our property for wildfire mitigation, the one tree we decided to keep closer to our house is Aspen.  Aspen simply don’t burn very well, unlike their conifer brethren, that often grow around them.

Crowning wildfires burning through stands of pines and fir that burn into Aspen groves often drop to the ground or even burn around these moist, leafy trees with their thick, white bark.  Even when an extremely hot fire manages to burn aspen trees, the result is a rebound of aspen sprouting very quickly.

In the burn scar up the road, the aspen sprouting began with two months of the wildfire.  And this summer with the wet spring conditions and some rain recently, the aspen suckers cover the bases of the burnt trees all along Ridge Road.

Some argue that an aspen grove is the world’s largest living thing as an immense grove covering several acres can all sprout from one parent tree, thus sharing the same DNA.  This ability to clone makes aspen the first species to grow and dominate in wildfire areas.  It also insures the brilliance of color in the autumn that makes this area so breathtaking.

So here’s to the resiliency of aspen, a reminder of nature’s indomitable spirit to persevere, recover and heal from what ever natural disasters come our way.