Colorado - Sept. 2011 - All good things...

Within the first year of being unemployed (by choice), Miki and I have been to both coasts twice, Michigan, Canada, and now Colorado.  Each trip had a purpose, but Colorado was the first real time we had no agenda, no real purpose, and was very freeing.  We hiked, biked, fished, and relaxed.  The dogs got their chance to rise to the challenge of high country chipmunks and expand their encyclopedic sense of smell.  


Today we hit the farmer's market one more time this morning followed by our last hike.  The weather cleared enough to take the dogs for one more up hill walk.  The Meadow Creek trail starts right on the edge of Frisco, along I-70 and heads toward the Gore mountain range.  In retrospect I went to a different trailhead, but all goals were still accomplished.  got the dogs out, fished, and hiked our butts off, all without getting rained on (well not too much...got sprinkled on).

We head up the trail, and up, and up, and more up...
I guess you do that in the mountains though.  Why am
I surprised we begin each hike this way?

I am relishing the sun at this moment of rest, it was more
cloudy than sunny...and even more, I am sucking oxygen!

Job well done, proud puppies.

Some old beaver ponds were my target for some
afternoon fishing.

We eat lunch in a meadow beneath
towering peaks...the boys enjoyed a
strip rawhide.

My first cutthroat on my line.  These beaver ponds were
full of these guys waiting for each fly I tossed their way.

Our descending trail overlooking Frisco and Lake Dillon.

Plenty of signs that fall has arrived in the mountains.

Back to the doghouse once more to see another
rainbow (not the fish this time).

As we prepare to leave this area, we know we'll be back, because there is so much more to do...both in winter and summer.  So Frisco...til we meet again...it's been a good thing.


My Zen from the road:  Like the old saying goes, "All good things must come to an end." Unless we modify it to say,  "All good things should be repeated!"  It's a good thing.


Cribbage Win Count:    Miki - 2    Wallie - 4

Colorado - Sept. 2011 - B*I*N*G*O

Wednesday was a work day (and the hair on the back of my neck stands up as I type the word work).  Break the doghouse down for a trip to the dump station (I suspect no need to go over that again), clean the (dog)house, a visit to Frisco's laundromat (tiny, small and clean), and just putz around.  And after a day like that, there is only one thing to do when the sun goes down... B-I-N-G-O Baby!  Ass right.  If it's Wednesday night, it's BINGO somewhere.  That somewhere was Silverthorne Elks Lodge #2561.  After a tasty dinner of hot dogs, beans, and potato salad to prime us for an evening of high frivolity and angst as each of what seems to be a billion numbers as called by a silver haired, mullet sporting Elk.


We arrived with minutes to spare, before the first number is called.  We plunk down our $11 a piece for the 4 regular bingo cards for the evening.  What we are unaware of is that throughout the evening, other game cards are sold.  By the time my wallet is worn out from opening and closing all night long, we've spent another... well let's say we could have paid to get the mullet cut off.


With a total of 26 lonely hearts sitting with anticipation of winning the big money, the first number is called.  We get off to a slow start and the first few games close without a Heyne/Winholtz voice shouting above the others, that 5 letter jackpot name-O, that Old MacDonald called his dog.  But the night was ultimately dominated by the couple from the campground.  Miki won $30 and I BINGO-ed with another person for $100 ($50 a piece), so we walked out at the end of the evening with $80 minus the amount of a haircut.  A good days work.


Thursday we awoke to a light blanket of snow on the surrounding peaks, mainly above tree line.  This was after the first winter storm warning of the season was issued (last night) for parts of the Rockies.  Below 11,000 feet, it was just drizzly.  

So what do you do when it is a soggy, fall day in the mountains of Colorado?  Get in your four wheel drive vehicle and search for aspen turning yellow.  With the recent precipitation and cooler temps, we could see the aspen in the campground showing signs of turning.  So, we had to get high (so to speak).  Our choice for a quick altitude gain was Boreas (Bore-ays) Pass, just south of Breckenridge.  A fairly well maintained gravel road that will take you to about 11,400+ feet above Charleston, SC.  Mostly a narrow, 2 lane road that will not rearrange your innards, unless you are in a real hurry.  It didn't take long as we climbed above the condos, cabins, and lodges of Breckenridge, to find aspen in varying stages of yellows and oranges.

Hints of yellow.

A little more.

We came around a corner and booyah!

If the conditions are right, some will
go to orange after yellow before
turning brown and falling off.

We love the light colored bark of aspen.

Remnants of the rain.

The colors turned a few heads...

Low hanging clouds covered the peaks.  You can
make out a few ski runs at Breckenridge on the right.

On Boreas Pass, Miki gave the dogs a
break and we ate lunch.

You could say we got a BINGO this day as well with the discovery of the turning aspen, high above Breckenridge.  What do you say to that Old MacDonald?


My Zen from the road:  

Look forward to what's around the corner.

Cribbage Win Count:    Miki - 2    Wallie - 4

Colorado - Sept. 2011 - Cutthroat

The title to this entry does not refer to Miki in cribbage, but to one of my favorite trout, but I digress.  

Monday - 7:30 a.m. - We are heading out, leaving the dogs to rest from their big hike yesterday.  Our destination is Mohawk Lake (actually plural, because there are 2 Mohawk Lakes), so how about...we is heading for the back country and some big ass fishin' (meaning even I can catch one).  Last year when we spent some time in Frisco, we hiked to the Mohawk Lakes, just south of Breckenridge, CO.  It is described as one of the Colorado hikes that encompasses everything good in a hike.  It has vistas, mining relics, waterfalls, alpine lakes, and more.  More importantly, there are fish to be had.


To get there, it is a short drive just outside Breckenridge on a gravel road called Spruce Creek Road.  You wind through some mountain getaways, then the road turns to crap as we slip into 4 wheel drive.  The gravel has now grown in size, the road grade has increased, and the stiff suspension of the truck is now beginning to rearrange our organs as our speed goes from slow to crawl.


About 15 minutes into this adventure (remember we are crawling), this crap road turns to shit.  The larger gravel has become small boulders, the ruts multiply, and the grade continues to increase, but varies.  At this point we change to 4-wheel LOW.  This evolves our crawl into something akin to the speed of continental drift (that will take you back to your 8th grade earth science class).  At this rate the island country of Haiti will beat us to our destination.


At this point you must be asking, "Why are we going back to a place, where during the process, we know our kidneys and lungs will have traded places?"  Thirty minutes go by and we finally reach our parking spot, even at a speed where an in shape mountain jogger would have beat us to.  We could have parked lower and had a 3.2 mile hump (and organs in a recognizable position) , or continue on and the hike is reduced to a 1.5 mile hard stroll.  We have 4x4, so by God we are using it, even if my spleen ends up in my throat.


8:30 a.m. (still Monday) - We dawn our day packs, Miki's with lunch and mine with fishin' stuff. The temperature at this point is around 40 degrees...30% chance of those semi-dependable, afternoon scattered rain showers...but mostly cloudy at this point, anticipating an early descent.  Due to the physical exertion of the climb through the woods and eventually scampering up through rock, our outdoor temp seems to not be a factor.  An hour later we summit at Lower Mohawk Lake after passing some old log cabins, mining relics, and waterfalls.

It is bigger than it looks, there are remnants of an old
log cabin on the far side of the lake...can't make it out.

Some type of pulley system.  Can't imagine how they
even got that up there to assemble it.  The cables and
giant iron pulley wheel, etc...

Looking down on Lower Mohawk Falls.

The lovely Miki and me (with my morning baggage under
my eyes, which I carried all the way to the top).

Mind you, with an increase in altitude, there is usually a decrease in temperature...Mr. Winholtz's 6th grade physical science curriculum.  At the same time we were in denial of the temperature change, spawned by the optimistic outlook for sunshine, the elation of reaching the first lake warmed our little mountain souls.  We hiked on.  Our goal was to reach the 5th lake of 6, working our way backwards if precipitation joined the party.  The temperature had to be hovering (shivering) around the mid thirties.

A look back, as we leave Lower Mohawk Lake behind.
Yes, that is snow on the left and it was not melting fast. 

Fifteen minutes later we were at lake #2, Upper Mohawk Lake.  It has fish too, but have not been successful there...yet.

What is neat at UML, is the trail introduces you to the
lake at eye level with the water level when you see it
for the first time.  A crazy perspective if you are not
expecting it.

Lake #3 is more of a pond, shallow and no fish and no picture of it here.  Lake #4, Upper Upper Mohawk Lake (no not really) is also picturesque but once again too shallow for fish to maintain over the winter.

Lake #4

What would be lake #6 would be in the bowl of the ridge line straight ahead in the picture above.  We are headed to the left where the rusty colored grasses meet the darker rock...lake #5.

Un-named (as far as we know) lake #5.  Twice as big as
LML.  Last year I was fishing in a t-shirt, this year we were
worried about being found next spring like statues next to the lake.

At this point I am jazzed, cause I am anticipating the first strike from a hungry-ass fish.  The fish here don't have the insect hatches up here in altitude as the lower streams and lakes do because of the cooler temps, so they are not as picky eaters as their brethren down below.  For me, the novice, wannabe, hopeful, journeyman, apprentice, fly fisherman...this is good news, cause this means that whatever I throw at them, there is a good chance they will get after it.  They gotta eat!  I could probably cast some Snickers nougat on a hook and catch about as many as I did with my flies (patent pending).


Before I turn myself loose on nature, we have a bite to eat, put on more clothing, and Miki hunkers down while her man pretends to go out and provide for her and our children.

My adrenaline kept me warm, but Miki had to rely on
cheap novel sex to ward off near freezing temps.

Cutthroat get their name from the red under their jaws.
They are feisty, strong, and fun to catch.  Not real big
due to their short growing (feeding) season.

I am walking the shoreline looking for cruising
 trout.  They are not far out, which is good, because
the wind is making hard to cast any distance.

The coloring on these fish is just exquisite.  I just love  them, maybe I'll marry them.

On the waning side of Miki's patience and to avoid hypothermia, we headed back to lake #1...what is it's name?  (LML)  As we started our gradual descent, the overcast sky broke up a bit and blue patches of sky bared themselves to us, warming us and our outlook on the afternoon.  


12:30 p.m. - I hit Lower Mohawk like a Navy Seal, with stealth and vigor.  Miki just laughs and finds a warm place to read as she watches me entangle my line in a bush behind me.  First cast, boom!  Another notch on my trout headboard...okay that was a bit  much, but I am still jazzed (and this was yesterday, as I write).  I play hard here for another hour and a half.  These guys are a bit more choosey, so I have to offer them a variety of food (flies) until I hit on one that works.  They also cruise the shallow shoreline, but I found more success casting farther out or downwind along the shore.  The ones right in front of me seem to be lookers ,not takers.  On the way from one spot to another, I had to cross by an old cabin, surely left from the mining days of old.

At a closer look through a cabin window opening, some
graffiti artist hiker leaves his mark in the form of a wacked
out miner on the cabin wall.

The weather stayed positive and the afternoon not only warmed us, but slipped by without much notice.  I said my goodbyes and thank yous, warning them of my return next summer and we headed down.

As late in the season as it is, we were
surprised to find many patches of
wildflowers.

Due to the rocky nature of the Rocky Mountains, many trails in rocky areas are marked with cairns (little piles of rocks).  Some just piles, others with an artistic flair.

Miki liked this one in particular.  It is hard to
see maybe, but it has a pointed rock balancing
precariously on the top.

Between the cairns and the squeaking chipmunks, we got down the steep parts and into the forest below.  I made a mental note (one of the few mental things I do) of a creek we crossed on the way up, that I spotted what looked like a possible notch, I mean fish to taunt.  It wasn't more than 15 yards off the trail.  The stream couldn't have been more than 4 feet across and the pool this fish was in was maybe 4' x 4' before the water tumbled down 20 yards to another pool.  I stood next to the creek with enough line out to literally dangle it perpendicular to the water's surface.  I let it down softly and BOOM!  That was one hungry sum buck.  I'll bet I could have done that over and over and get the same result...poor baby, I'll just hook you once (that was mean, huh?).  My logic (like my mental abilities) told me if it could happen here, it could happen down there.  Walked down to the next pool, same song, different fish.  I was giddy!  Most of you have not seen me giddy, so imagine away.

First crime scene.

First victim.

Second victim.

About 4:00 p.m. - Once again, I bid my farewell, warned of my return, and continued our way back to the truck.  Oh, yeah...the ride back down the Jerkalator,  the Bumpinator, the Bladderbuster.  Giddiness was being replaced by reality.  From the trailhead, we hiked the last bit of road (I use the term loosely) to our parking spot.  If not for some unforgiving craters in that section of road, I would have saved us 100 yards more of walking.  Any man with a 4x4 and a hair on his butt would have made it, but my large intestine was still winding itself around my testicles, so I opted out of that macho plan.  Miki was thankful her breasts were still level and plumb, so we pulled over where the sane hikers parked.




Well, we were prepared for the worst (could have had more clothes to put on) and got the best yesterday on our Mohawk Lakes Trail adventure.  It caught up to me later on, which is why you are reading this a day later.  It is a great hike for lots of reasons besides the short length, if you can withstand an earthquake, magnitude 9 for 30 minutes, but it also has lots of my buddies up there waiting for me next summer.  I love all trout.  The browns, the rainbows, the brookies... but these cutthroat in these lakes (and little stream) rank right up there.  A good day was had by all ME.




My Zen from the road:  A shout out to a friend and teammate of mine who I got to teach with my last 7 years...Darcie D. ...woo-hoo!  Darcie ran in her first 10K this last weekend at MIZZOU.  Without knowing her whole story (the part that I know of her), trust me in knowing that if she can do what it takes to prepare and accomplish this goal of hers, there is no reason why the rest of us can't accomplish some of our own.  Find someone to inspire you.  She inspired me in a way too, that let me know it was okay to retire (sounds odd, I know), knowing I was leaving the teaching profession in good hands.  I wondered about that, as I got on in my professional life, but felt good passing the torch to competent educators like her and others I miss.

Look out to who you give your
picture to, you never know where
it might end up!

Cribbage Win Count:    Miki - 2    Wallie - 2

Colorado - Sept. 2011 - A Simple Hike

Yesterday I was accused of nearly killing Miki from a bicycle ride that included a biggish hill.  She called her mom and told on me.  Today, if Tuck and Tooga could call their momma, they would probably tell on me too, that I had nearly killed them on a hike, with a biggish hill.  You would have never known it, cause they couldn't wait to hit the trail, just like Miki yesterday.

Ptarmigan Trail trailhead.  Elevation gain of 990 ft.
4.2 mile round trip.  Lake Dillon in the background
where our campground is.

The first section of the trail, maybe a half mile, was pretty steep before the elevation change became more gradual.  Tuck and Tooga charged straight up with a sniff sniff here and a pee pee there.  Soon we were in the woods, mostly aspen at this point.

We crossed two small streams, both of which
became water parks for the dogs for a few
minutes while they rehydrated.

Two hours later, we reached our destination, an
overlook of the town of Silverthorne.  We ate a snack
and relaxed for a few minutes.

Took a family portrait and headed back down the
mountain.  At this point the dogs were showing some
signs of slowing down.

We passed the two creeks without a pause, the
dogs were on a mission to go "home."

The last vista was that of Lake Dillon, a sight not seen
unless you are high above it.

And as late in the wildflower season as it may be,
there were still many to line the trail.

As has been our routine after strenuous activity in the mornings, we eat lunch and crash in the afternoons.  The same was the routine for today.  The mid afternoon potty break for the boys called.  We harnessed and leashed them for a trip around the campground.  It was apparent that a few steps into it, this would not be a typical pee break.  Tooga seemed a little slower than normal, but still headed for the nearest faint odor to explore.  Tuck on the other hand seemed as though he had been under anesthisia and was having a hard time coming out of it.  He was just in slow motion and so not his normal prancing self.  I wonder if dogs get shin splints?  Oh well, what are you going to do.  Their first big trip to the Rocky Mountains wouldn't be complete without some sore muscles and paws.

My Zen from the road:  After dinner tonight, Miki and I went below the Lake Dillon dam for me to fish and her to read.  I left her the keys and asked where she would be.  She said, "I'll be where I am."  A while later and a good chuckle over what sounded like nonsense, it made sense.  Be present.

Cribbage Win Count:    Miki - 1    Wallie - 2