As we drove deeper into the mountains, the sky clouded over and snow was falling. We reached the park--the road had not yet been cleared of the six inches of snow that fell overnight--and drove in the back entrance. Almost immediately, we were welcomed by herds of bull elk. What an experience to have these elk, with their thick, snow-laden winter coats, all to ourselves, to watch them kick up snow and earth in search of food, to watch and listen to them challenge one another -- horns clashing and clanking, bugling echoing through the snow-insulated valley -- and to realize we were not the only ones watching, making us very aware of our unusual, perhaps unwelcome, presence in this scene. We moved along in the direction of Bear Lake stopping occasionally to wait for wildlife crossing or because we spotted a deer or two hunkered down under each pine tree along the road.
Throughout the morning, there was a very real feeling that we were treading on new, undiscovered territory--much like the explorers describe in the PBS National Park series we are watching. The park was nearly deserted and the snow covered any sign of human life. It's an odd privilege these days to experience complete solitude in a national park. It's a gift, really.
Since the wind was up, we found a place below timberline to hike. In the parking lot, we strapped on our snowshoes and followed a single set of ski tracks into the woods. The wind rose wresting snow from the branches of aspens and pines. More than once piles of snow plopped down onto our heads from their resting places above. Since we veered from the ski trail shortly after starting our hike, we were working to make fresh tracks and the cold snow melting down our backs was welcomed. We followed Boulder Creek to a bridge--well, to a log, flat on the top side, set down over the creek. Carefully, one snowshoe in front of the other, we crossed the log to a small incline aside the creek. We plopped down and listened to the bubbling and flow of water over rocks. We sat in silence for a long time appreciating what we had been given that day. Appreciating experiencing it together.
When we finally headed back down, other visitors were trickling onto the trails where we felt such peace and quiet only a couple of hours before. "Thanks for breaking trail," one skier said as he let us pass, meaning it as a joke. Really, it was our pleasure, I thought as I smiled and nodded.
While we were in the depths of the park, the roads had been cleared of the powder leaving a snow-packed and slippery mess. And when we were driving out the rangers were closing the park down to any more visitors.
Rocky Mountain National Park continues to be a place of comfort for Ben and me. It's funny that we're so drawn to it. After all, the park is a huge tourist attraction and often packed with cars and people. I can't speak for Ben, but I think the reason I'm drawn to the park is, perhaps, because it was here that I had my first taste of mountain life when I visited back in college. I spent a few days traveling around Colorado with my college boyfriend and the first mountainous area we visited was this park. I was so, so captivated by the beauty of the dramatic peaks and I left knowing I had to return to this place.
I did, three years later, when I moved to Colorado. I have always been a restless person. I can't sit still for long--and this pertains to so many areas of my life. Even living in Denver wasn't enough for me. I remember biking home from work so often looking out at the white-capped peaks with that same yearning I had when I left for Wisconsin after my trip in college. Funny, it wasn't until I met Ben and finally moved to Boulder that the yearning quit. I think I've found my place and I've met my match. He's as restless a soul as I when it comes to adventures. Wanderlust, I guess they call it.
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