On Tuesday, Zippy and I drove to Kenosha Pass to admire the changing foliage and take a hike. I was giddy with anticipation since we’d left Emma at home which meant I could fully relax without constantly scanning for other dogs on the trail. Emma came to us with some emotional baggage and she still, after all these years, frequently reacts to other dogs. I was looking forward to a quiet hike and photo session. But when we reached Kenosha Pass, the parking lots where we typically only see about ten vehicles when we drive past on Highway 285 were completely filled with vehicles. Not only that, the side road was also lined with vehicles. About 50 or more vehicles. Ugh.

I made a quick U-turn and drove back another mile or so to a turnoff our neighbor had alerted us to. He’d said there was a lake back there where we could hike. Well, it turns out that lake is now off-limits to the public and there were several NO TRESPASSING signs posted about but there was a parking area for another trailhead. So, off we went.

We were in Pike National Forest where the pine trees outnumbered the showy aspen trees, but that was okay. Because it was SO peaceful in the forest and there was much vivid beauty to admire. (click to enlarge)

 

 

 

 

 

We kept a tally of the few birds seen and heard** as we were serenaded by the wind in the pines. And then the pines would quit their shushing wind sounds to become absolutely silent. At one point, we were hiking in that silence and then came upon these trees which loudly creaked as several of them rubbed against each other in the wind.

I fought the urge to investigate which ones were producing the creaking sounds as I’d learned while hiking to Eaglesmere Lake that those sounds are impossible to locate. On that hike, I’d stood in one spot to listen and felt positive the sound was coming from my left, only to move left and then hear the sound coming from behind me. Or in front of me or to the right. It was enough to make me believe in impish woodland creatures.

When we’d arrived at the trailhead, the car display said it was 47 degrees. Clouds moved in as we hiked and the temperature dropped a bit. At one point, the sun shone down as a smattering of teeny-tiny flakes of snow fell. The most troublesome objects in the sky were the three sets of fighter jets that flew over, completely obliterating the tranquility. When the third set roared overhead, Zippy aimed a middle finger at them and shouted a profanity which cracked me up although I couldn’t stop thinking about how the wildlife must be so traumatized by those sounds. At least we understood the source of that horrific noise.

It wasn’t all pines, we did see some glorious aspen displays. Here we are taking turns being leaf-peepers. As you can see, Zippy’s approach is a bit more stealth than mine.

 

 

 

After we’d turned around to head back, the clouds began to darken and I started singing Winnie-the-Pooh’s “A Little Black Rain Cloud.” But it wasn’t rain in those clouds, it was snow! For a while there, we hiked through an absolute flurry.

Our first snow of the season! We were above 10,000 feet so it shouldn’t have been that unexpected, but it did feel a bit other-worldly. And it was getting colder. All summer when hiking with my camelback, the first sips of water that’d been in the tube were always warmer than the following sips. It was the reverse: the tube-water was cold and the water from inside the pack was warm. Kinda trippy!

Fortunately, I was dressed appropriately and kept warm for the 5 1/2 mile hike. Even better, we only saw ONE HUMAN that entire time. A woman on a mountain bike passed us going the other way at our four-mile mark and then caught up with us again a few minutes before we made it back to our car. We were SO glad we’d opted out of the hordes of leaf-peepers on the pass. They might’ve seen more aspen displays than us, but we had the solitude on our side. It was truly a magnificent hike.

All gratitude to nature!

**
Dark-headed Junco
Canada Jay
Possibly a bald eagle although probably a Turkey Vulture
Mountain Chickadee
Crow
Common Raven
Chipmunk