Winterlude

Summer of Falling Stars

Alpine meadow dances and laughing we join.

Flowers riot and tyrant clouds deny
Shadow-sun-shadow upon their pleading faces.
So little time, so little time,
Then the snowy kiss of death.

A brook chuckles by, joining our mirth,
But soon a silent ocean destiny.

Birds look in, curious and indignant,
Hunger-proud and leery, unaware of human desire,
And their own southward urging.

Long shadows march and die to alpenglow,
Herald of another day, another summer gone,
And the rose-tinged prophet of our parting.

Tonight, one last darkness, midsummer-brief.
The light of distant suns close age-long journeys in our eyes,
And falling stars, the showy suicide of dust.

Long past now,
That summer lingers -
A star-white trail across
The dark expanse of memory.

A Nice Round Number Seven: Wheeler Peak, New Mexico

The last day of summer started out frosty. There was a rime of frost on the rocks and most of the plants, and our morning trail started way down in the valley, Taos Ski Valley to be exact. It wasn't outright cold, since I stayed with short sleeves, but then again my cold tolerance is way above most, because of my patented internal layer system (others, less kind, may call it blubber). The trail to the top of New Mexico begins with a modest climb of a thousand feet over the first two miles. Turner and I notice that a lot of people complain about this gradient, and then marvel that we've hiked miles more, and thousands of feet more when they feel totally beat. I think our ability to take pain, rather than our amazing physical conditioning, must be the difference. We arrived at Williams Lake, not much more than a tarn of a couple hundred yards across, about an hour after our 7:45 AM departure. No big deal so far, but we know what's next: 2000 feet of climbing in one mile.

The morning light here must be one of the reasons they call this state the land of enchantment. The peaks to our East are bathed in gold, a Cibola light show of great magnitude. I am musing between the adjectives "beautiful" and "awesome." The geological formations are awesome, the stark results of dramatic mountain-lifting power. But they are not beautiful. The light, however, that caresses the landscape, and plays against the crystal blue sky... that's beautiful.

Right from the lake the trail abruptly rose toward the saddle to the North of the peak. First it was through the woods, then up through a gully, breaking out onto the slopes about halfway between lake and saddle. I realize very early on that this is one of those climbs where you put your head down, keep your eyes on the mountain in front of you, and try not to think about how much further it is. Overall the grade is just under 40% for this mile, but there are sections that easily go over 50%. We can touch the mountain in front us while standing straight up. Ouch. But... it gets over with mercifully soon, and after a brief rock scramble right near the top of the saddle, we get over to the summit. Four hours up.

I like the summit feeling. The four others at the top are all giddy as we are, chatting about nothing in particular, but happy and laughing. It ends too soon, and the pain of descent must be faced. We take our time going down, and reach the car in just over two hours. All in all it was a great hike.

I have a wonderful tradition for the road trip home from hiking trips. I like to listen to George Winston's Summer - piano solos - as I watch the landscape roll by. The five hour trip is shortened by the music, and later by listening to another favorite, baseball on the radio. The sounds of summer soon to pass. We are ravenously hungry, but have to wait almost two hours until the Carl's Jr. in Walsenburg, Colorado. The burgers and fries and cokes are beyond gourmet. Turner and I agree that we hope the gracious Lord gives many more such summers as this one. Seven high points, a week in the back country of the Weminuche Wilderness, and many other smaller blessings.

Interlude: Taos

Rene' and I were chatting this afternoon about our day trip to Taos during our honeymoon. Not a lot of detail surfaced: a late breakfast, a visit to an art gallery with Mountain Man Art... (kind of glad that phase is over... it is, isn't it?), a cold winter day. But I remembered also looking out north of town, up the valley and thinking, "Colorado is not so far up there..." Just a couple of weeks before I had heard of a lead on a church that needed a pastor up in Denver, and stored it away as a possible job lead, that I might look into after our wedding and honeymoon. The whole thing worked out pretty well.

Turner and I are in Taos to climb Wheeler Peak, New Mexico, a low thirteener, but the highest point in the state. It will be our seventh this year. What a drive down! The drives to the highpoints have been spectacular, and this one is no exception. We drove over La Veta Pass and through San Luis Valley, including the oldest town in Colorado, San Luis itself. I guess Mesa Verde doesn't count, another tough break for the ancient pueblans. What a charming town is Taos, but Turrner and I were noticing that there are very few young people here. We concluded that this is a vacation town for old folks. There's art, pottery, turquoise, but no waterslides or rollercoasters. B-O-R-I-N-G. Unless of course you're post-kids, well to do, and looking to brighten up your existence somewhat.

Tomorrow, the hike. I've read it's pretty steep, but I feel unintimidated after Mt. Elbert (did I mention it's the highest in the Rocky Mountains?). Less elevation, less climbing, less mileage. Just one stretch of 2000 feet of climb in one mile. What grade is that anyway? Just under 40%? Really glad we're not trying to drive it.

Colorado, Mt. Elbert

I remember a family vacation in the early 70s (we lived in the San Francisco Bay Area) where we visited Colorado. We had one of those Viewmaster slide show gadgets, and while in Colorado Springs our parents bought us a reel with the highlights of Colorado. I can still see the Mt. Elbert slide in my mind's eye - the Highest Mountain in Colorado. Yesterday, Turner and I stood at the top of that mountain, not only the highest in the state, but the highest in the Rocky Mountain Range of North America.

Joining us on the hike were Arch Rutherford, a fellow board member at Chafer Theological Seminary, Ray Loupenay, and Vincent, a foreign exchange student from Germany. Sunday night was rainy, and there was more rain in the forecast for the next day, September 2nd. We shared a hotel room in Leadville, and wondered if we would be hiking. The day dawned clear, and so we drove to the south trailhead and began our ascent at around 7 AM. The first thousand feet or so climbed up through an aspen and spruce forest, and went by pretty quickly, but when we broke out above treeline at 11,800 feet or so we immediately noticed the wind. It was a knockover kind of wind, with gusts blasting at 50 miles an hour and more, which made the ascent less than pleasant. It just wasn't going to be one of those easy days.

Turner's hands were going numb, and he said later that when he put his hands in his armpits, his armpits went numb also. I thought the hike was going to be not so bad, but when we got to about the 13,800 foot level I started to get pretty queasy every time I exerted myself, which was every step or so. That meant it was a gut check every time I stopped. But... I kept telling myself that I really didn't want to come back and do it again, and that kept me going. Turner made it to the summit about a minute before I did, and I was feeling kind of emotional about making it, because it was just that tough. We hung around long enough to take pictures, and began the descent.

All in all, it was a preview of what's to come on some of the higher and tougher climbs ahead. I reminded myself of how important it will be to get in better condition this winter. The fine summer days of driving and climbing to easy high points seemed a long time ago.

North Dakota Highpoint

We broke camp early on the 22^nd of July, still filled with memories of the evening ceremony at Mr. Rushmore. First on our schedule was Jewel Cave National Monument, the second-longest cave network in the world. Below the Black Hills West of Custer, South Dakota are over 140 miles of caves. We took the half mile tour, since we didn’t have time for the whole 140 miles, and I couldn’t fit through the Calorie Counter, the 7.5 inch passageway into the great network. But what a wonder of God’s earth, a likely product of the Great Flood of Noah. It makes me marvel to think of the many awesome wonders that came out of that judgment, gleaming and gargantuan monuments to the grace of God.

After the tour we headed north through Deadwood, Spearfish, and Belle Fourche, and wandered out onto the rolling plains of South Dakota, and into North Dakota, passing Bowman and Amidon, and getting back on the dirt roads just past the St. Peter and Paul Catholic Cemetery, at the white farm house. A few miles down we turned again, and then stopped to drop our ten bucks in the mail box to enter the private land. A bouncing ride across a half mile of track along the fence line brought us to the stopping spot where we left Rene’ and Alex to relax peacefully in the hot wind while we ascended through the mile of white chalky outcroppings, sagebrush, and long grass to the top of White Butte, North Dakota.

At the top we were just about blown into Montana by the prevailing wind. Wow. There was a nice view from there, four hundred feet above everything else, with green rolling grass in every direction. Turner declared this desolate location to be his favorite of the five so far. I’m more inclined toward South Dakota’s Harney Peak, but hey it was my birthday for that one. We strolled back down, jogging here and there, to join the girls and drive on for the night to Hardin, Montana. In the morning we would visit the Little Bighorn battlefield, and drive on to home.

Interlude: Mount Rushmore, Colors Ceremony

After our visit to Mount Rushmore in the day, we heard of the evening lighting service, and decided to return for that, a half hour drive from our campground. The sun went down behind the president, twilight came, and then a ranger walked out on the stage of the amphitheatre. To her right is the American flag, illuminate by a floodlight. Behind are the dusk-shadowed faces of four American icons: Washington, Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt, and Lincoln. She gave an introduction and then played a movie that gave an overview of the four presidents memorialized there. Then… then something to make Americans proud. The ranger told the story of the national anthem, including the background to the battle of Baltimore harbor. She recited the first three stanzas of the anthem, and then broke into song for the fourth: “Then the heav’n-rescued land, blest with victory and peace…” Then slowly, without us realizing it, huge lights came up on the faces, and by the middle of stanza they were in full view again. But even that was not the climax of the ceremony.

The good ranger then invited veterans, active duty service personnel, or the representatives of those lost in combat or currently serving overseas. A few dozen descended the stairs, and as we began to approach the stage, clapping began, and grew. We presented our salutes as the flag descended it’s pole, and members of a boy scout troop folded it. And what followed that was a standing ovation for all the men there. A lot passed through my mind in those moments on the stage.

I thought of my Dad, an 18 year old country boy facing kamikazes and the loss of his best friend in the Pacific in World War II; of Art Brodin riding a glider into Normandy on the 6^th of June, 1944, and his son Bob flying helicopters for the Navy all over the world, including Antarctica and in support of combat in Desert Storm; of Eric Olsen volunteering for a year in Afghanistan after being completely out of the Army for many years; of watching Gary Lowery graduate from MCRD, and that moment that he came to a stop at the head of his platoon, carrying the colors, a different man than the one we had said farewell to three months before; of seeing Mark Rockefeller in church for the first time after Baghdad and thanking God that he was back home with his wife and children; of Wayne Hall praying for his battalion of Marines at Fallujah; of Jeff Coleman waiting and waiting to join the Air Force, and getting his patience rewarded; of seven generations of Millers serving our great nation; and of a Flag Day at the Atkins', grieving with them at the loss of Shawn.

And I thought, this moment is really for them, for all of them and many more, and not for me. The ranger invited each of us on the stage to come by and touch the flag that she held in her arms. As my turn came, and I looked into her face, I saw wet eyes and tear-streamed cheeks. I think she knew what it meant to each and every one of us.

South Dakota, 21 July, 2008, a Birthday Highpoint

Scene: The Perkins family in the car, driving north on I-25 from Thornton. Turner says, “Which highpoint are we doing?” I reply, “South Dakota and North Dakota.” Then he says, “And why are mom and Alex coming?” Me again, “Because it’s our one opportunity to see Mt. Rushmore.” A pause. “But I thought Mt. Rushmore was in Washington.” Well, we’re always looking for opportunities to educate our children. After our clarification, Turner declares, “Until this day I thought Mt. Rushmore was in Washington.”

The next morning the two of us got going early, and hit the trail at 7:30 AM. We were the first or second in the Sylvan Lake parking lot on this day. It was hot and dry, and we were glad for the early start. The lake itself was still, and gave a mirrored reflection of the giant boulders that surround it. Next to the lake inlet was a sign that warned against diving. There was no water there, so we thought that was funny. The trail was hot and dusty, but much easier than the signs at the trailhead, which said this was extremely strenuous.

90 uneventful minutes later we neared the summit, climbing the cool stairs which went through the tunnel and spiraled up the middle of the summit rocks. That was more than cool, and the view justified the ascent by itself. We could see the back of Mt. Rushmore (it’s better from the front, we found out later in the day), and various other places in the Black Hills.

On the way down the crowds were starting their laborious climb. Dozens and dozens of people, all asking and saying the same things: “Did you make the summit?” And, “Are we there yet?” We both had the feeling that quite a few weren’t going to make it all the way if they were saying those things within a half mile of the trailhead parking lot.

This, along with Mt. Rushmore in the afternoon, made it a banner birthday for me. What a majestic nation we live in.

Oklahoma: Black Mesa and the Curious Cattle

After a passable meal at a local steakhouse in Clayton, New Mexico, and a sober viewing of Blackhawk Down, we retired to a restless night's sleep. Back on the road for an hour to the Black Mesa trailhead - the first test of our will and skill. We will have to hike 8.2 miles and orienteer our way across a barren mesa top to the highest point in the state of Oklahoma.

The day was cloudy and gloomy from the previous nights' wild storms, which had knocked out cell phone use in the area. The hike divided into three legs: 2 miles west across rolling terrain at the base of Black Mesa; 1 mile of steep climbing up the side of the mesa, and another mile across the billiard table mesa top to the highpoint monument.

We met the totally unexpected here. Frisky and curious calves. At their first sighting of us, they began to lope toward us, kicking with apparent joy as though we were long lost friends. Two adult cows followed on their heels, and I began to get a bit nervous. Turner and I looked at one another. and agreed to pick up the pace. On we went across the rolling desert (lots of flowering Cholla Cactus) to the base of the hill climb. On the cattle followed about 50 yards behind us... "Trick or treat!" But they then lost their appetite for exercise when we climbed the mesa side.

The rest was easy. A straight azimuth SSW and lo and behold there was the 9-foot tall granite summit monument. We took a short water and picture break, and headed back across the sandy and cactus-strewn mesa top toward our car. Although the guidebook had warned us against rattlesnakes, we saw none. It did not warn us about the cows, who picked up their strange pursuit of us when we got back down to the bottom. Taking a respectful shortcut, we made it back to the car.

The journey home, including a grateful stop at the Sonic in La Junta, was uneventful. How uneventful? In the 100 mile stretch of road between the Black Mesa trailhead and La Junta, we saw just 8 other vehicles. Lonesome day in southeastern Colorado. Thus ended our first highpointing foray. We had driven 1000 miles and bagged two easy drive through highpoints and one moderately easy hiking highpoint. It was honestly a fun couple of days.

Interlude: Camp Amache

It was already a long day, and it was well past mid- afternoon. Starting in Colorado, we had passed through Wyoming, Nebraska, more of Colorado, Kansas, and now found ourselves East of Lamar, Colorado, working toward our utlimate destination of Clayton, New Mexico. A sign appears on the left: Camp Amache... what's that? Sounds like Apache or something. But just a glimpse of the second, smaller sign causes a U-turn. "Japanese Internment Camp." Now this is worth a visit no matter how far we've come or how far we have to go.

Since the first time I saw The Karate Kid I have had an interest in the injustice that our country imposed on the Japanese-Americans after Pearl Harbor. We took away the rights of citizens of Japanese descent (even if they were several generations in our country) and relocated them to desolate internment camps all over the Western U.S. Mr. Miyagi, the mentor of the Karate Kid, was a fictional citizen who had been victimized by this outrageous policy. After losing his wife and child to illness, he joined the 442nd Regimental Combat Team and subsequently was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. Great fictional story.

Another great piece of fiction is the book Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson, which prompts more heartbreak and more anger and indignation at this travesty.

Now here we were on the sacred ground of what once was the 10th largest city in Colorado, thanks to the concentration of Americans of Japanese descent. The 60 year old trees in the perfect rows next to the foundations was so striking. It was barren, but they planted trees not knowing how long they might reside there... forever? The war did drag on for more than three years after their arrival. There were schools, even a senior high school. Mess halls which I now understand were a grave threat to their family order (which had the father as the regal figure at his own family table). Several churches were then, Catholic, Protestant, and a Buddhist temple. And a graveyard, with a monument to the 442nd Regimental Combat Team. What was that? The only way to get out of an internment camp... enlist in the special unit composed of men of Japanese descent. They were one of the greatest fighting regiments in the history of the U.S. Army, if not the greatest.

The 442nd.

Included in their ranks was this man from Camp Amache: Kiyoshi Muranaga.

One more heart-rending moment came when we saw the grave marker you see in the picture above. Matsuda Baby, Christmas day.

Filled with pride in these extraordinary Americans, we drove on to Boise City, OK and then to Clayton, NM, our stop for the night.

Kansas: The Mt. Sunflower Massif

The Nebraska highpoint behind us, we wound our way through the back roads of northern Colorado on the way to Kansas, with lunch on our minds. Subway was just the ticket. Then, Brush... Otis... Yuma... Wray... then a hard right turn on lonely highway 385, headed south. We intersected I-70 at Burlington and crossed into Kansas, where we made another hard right at Kanorado. More farm roads and back roads with Turner at the map and me at the wheel. Corn and wheat fields were in abundance as the dusty miles ticked by. Then we came to another pasture and bumped our way to the summit. Yep, another drive through highpoint. Mt. Sunflower is a fun place where the owner has put up a picnic shelter and scrap metal artwork. In addition to the vista, we noticed one charming thing: silence. Sweet, enveloping silence. It was barely windy enough to generate a whisper (probably very rare for the spot). Thunder clouds rolled across the landscape to the south, smudging along toward Oklahoma and Texas, but here it was sunny and warm. We could feel the change in humidity also, coming from our delightfully dry Front Range area to something about a third of the way to not so delightfully dry Houston. We soaked up the moment, and drove back through the pasture. Then turned back to retrieve the GPS, which I had left on the hood and had fallen off. Thankfully I didn't also run over it.

First Highpoint: the Grasslands of Nebraska

We backed out of the driveway at 6 AM on Monday, July 7th, 2008 on our first journey. Then we stopped for gas, and for Starbucks. Then we really got started, heading up I-25 from our home in Thornton, Colorado to Cheyenne, then east to Pine Bluffs, Wyoming, where we would get off the beaten path. It was the beginning of a 700 mile day, much of it on the backroads of Nebraska, Colorado, Oklahoma, and New Mexico. Yes, all those in one day. We had armed ourselves with guidebooks, road atlases, a GPS, day packs loaded with the Ten Essentials, plus the usual road trip things, like favorite music and books.

From Pine Bluffs Wyoming we headed south along deserted dirt roads into Nebraska, the first state to be privileged by our presence on its high point. Turner was navigating from our guidebook and giving out directions like "go 2.3 miles and turn left," etc. We learned our first lesson: have small bills ready for entrance fees. My smallest was a $20, so we lost a few bucks there.

Panorama Point was fun. We drove through a Bison herd on the way through the private land to the monument. We stopped and logged it on our GPS, signed into the register, and then...

...well then I turned over the wheel to my 12 year old son and let him drive us back out the mile to the main road. It could have been a fatal mistake to let my nearsighted overzealous son take the wheel. But the only thing he could smack into was a bison or two, or the barbwire fence. We have both lived to tell the tale, and Turner got his first driving lesson from a pretty nervous father.

Panorama Point was also beautiful, with great views in every direction of the high plains of Nebraska, Wyoming, and Colorado. The grass was still early summer green, and the roads seemed to stretch on forever and ever. We decided to navigate via dirt roads through northern Colorado down to Ft. Morgan, and we were rewarded with the satisfaction of more great views of the Pawnee National Grasslands and the Pawnee Buttes. Turner did a terrific job of navigating us through a truly empty and beautiful land.

I'm a mountain guy, through and through, but I have to say that these grasslands had a special and memorable charm. On to Kansas and the imposing and dangerous Mt. Sunflower!

A Simple Plan

I don't know where I got the idea of ascending the state high points. Somehow it bubbled up into my consciousness from magazine reading, or internet surfing, but I always thought, "What a cool way to get to know our states." With my son Turner becoming a teenager this summer, I thought we might begin the journey as a way for him to develop a deeper love and appreciation for our country, and for us to grow closer as father and son, and so we began to plan our first trip...