As a native of Southern Missouri, I am used to the gently rounded Ozark mountains, carpeted with deciduous trees - oaks, maples, hickories, and others whose names I do not know. In the summer, they radiate green; in the fall, they color the landscape with reds and yellows. The trees resemble skeletons in the winter, and they are the earliest harbingers of spring when their yellow-green leaves begin to show, creating an palette of barely colored softness.
The Colorado mountains are not like the Ozark mountains. They are sharp and rugged and steep, with boulders peeking through haphazardly strewn evergreen trees. Sometimes, the mountains cannot hold the trees - no soil is visible on the rocky terrain. Perhaps this is why these mountains are called the "Rockies." And while the Ozark mountains can make a person feel as if he or she is a part of the plan for the Earth, the Colorado mountains easily point out the insignificance of man in the whole scheme of things. We can climb the things, but they are still bigger than we, and will be here long after we are gone.
Such was my observation on our first full day in Crested Butte. We actually went several miles away to Black Canyon, where our hosts, Geary and Jan, had planned for us to take a guided water tour through the Gunnison River, which is a tributary of the Colorado River. For the most part, the river is lazy and gentle, but the views are spectacular. Our guide informed us that the canyon is easily 2250 feet deep and that three dams control its flow.
Though we were quite safe, I admit to being a little nervous about being in an excursion boat so soon after the Duck disaster in Branson. As we began our river journey, black clouds began to swirl, and it occurred to me that the weather could change here as easily and as quickly as it does in the Ozarks. Though I seem to be turning into a worrywart (resembling my father), I was able to talk myself down and actually enjoy the ride.
Before we got to the ride, however, we had to get down to the river. We walked down 232 steps - at least that's what Geary told us - and then we walked about half a mile to get to the boat. Of course, that meant that we walked a half mile back and then climbed those 232 steps to get back to the car. At a high altitude, all those steps wore me out. I knew I would feel each one of them in my hamstrings and glutes the next day, but what better way to get a workout than be out in perfect weather and beautiful surroundings!
Our day ended with a home-cooked meal - steak au poivre with appropriate accoutrements, and that included a bottle (or two) of cabernet. Bedtime came right on time!
The Colorado mountains are not like the Ozark mountains. They are sharp and rugged and steep, with boulders peeking through haphazardly strewn evergreen trees. Sometimes, the mountains cannot hold the trees - no soil is visible on the rocky terrain. Perhaps this is why these mountains are called the "Rockies." And while the Ozark mountains can make a person feel as if he or she is a part of the plan for the Earth, the Colorado mountains easily point out the insignificance of man in the whole scheme of things. We can climb the things, but they are still bigger than we, and will be here long after we are gone.
Such was my observation on our first full day in Crested Butte. We actually went several miles away to Black Canyon, where our hosts, Geary and Jan, had planned for us to take a guided water tour through the Gunnison River, which is a tributary of the Colorado River. For the most part, the river is lazy and gentle, but the views are spectacular. Our guide informed us that the canyon is easily 2250 feet deep and that three dams control its flow.
Though we were quite safe, I admit to being a little nervous about being in an excursion boat so soon after the Duck disaster in Branson. As we began our river journey, black clouds began to swirl, and it occurred to me that the weather could change here as easily and as quickly as it does in the Ozarks. Though I seem to be turning into a worrywart (resembling my father), I was able to talk myself down and actually enjoy the ride.
Before we got to the ride, however, we had to get down to the river. We walked down 232 steps - at least that's what Geary told us - and then we walked about half a mile to get to the boat. Of course, that meant that we walked a half mile back and then climbed those 232 steps to get back to the car. At a high altitude, all those steps wore me out. I knew I would feel each one of them in my hamstrings and glutes the next day, but what better way to get a workout than be out in perfect weather and beautiful surroundings!
Our day ended with a home-cooked meal - steak au poivre with appropriate accoutrements, and that included a bottle (or two) of cabernet. Bedtime came right on time!
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