An Elk with a View

July marks the start of the real hiking season in the Rockies. Enough snow has finally melted to allow access to the higher elevations, though drifts still remain to add an additional challenge to any trek. I love climbing through the changing vegetation, watching the lush mixed forest become a thinner one of various evergreens, then climbing further until only twisted, windblown spruces and hardy shrubs are left. The fabulous mountain views above the treeline are only heightened by the stubborn wildflowers that spring up wherever they can.

The other day, I enjoyed just such a hike in Rocky Mountain National Park. The trail to Flattop Mountain began at about 9500 feet and rose to over 12,000 in the course of 4 miles. I relished in the fresh air as the wildflowers changed from goldenbean to columbine to rosy paintbrush to alpine buttercup with every mile.

Then, there above timberline, a something emerged on the horizon. It had the golden brown color of a marmot, but was much too large. At lower elevations, I would have dismissed it as a tree stump. I got out my binoculars and discovered a handsome bull elk.

As the trail climbed closer and closer to the great beast, whose antlers were still encased in their protective velvet, I kept expecting him to become nervous at my approach. I thought he would soon get to his feet and run (hopefully away and not at me in an angry charge), but he kept right on chewing his cud, only occasionally flicking an ear at a pesty bug.

Two mere humans were not going to disturb this elk's enjoyment of the fabulous view. The sun was shining. The pika were scurrying, and the marmots were chirping. A ptarmigan hen surveyed her five fuzzy, newly-hatched chicks as they pecked the ground.

My man and I summited Flattop, looked up and saw another peak beckoning. We continued on to the next highest mountain, Hallett Peak at 12,713 feet, where we enjoyed a wonderful lunch of bread and cheese. It was a fantastic day.

The snowy winter and very wet spring have resulted in spectacularly full rivers and waterfalls. The wildflowers are amazing at all altitudes. I don't think you could go wrong with any hike in any direction, as you never know what you might see.

A few days ago, I did a hike of over 14 miles into the Rawah Wilderness in northern Colorado. About 4 or 5 miles into the hike, I noticed a commotion to the left of the trail. Two thrushes were flapping and squawking on the ground. At first, I thought they were protecting a nest, and concerned about my intrusion, but then I saw that one of the birds was trapped.

The poor bird's wing was wrapped around a spiny, dead spruce branch, like the one pictured. He (lets just call him the he...he was flapping around so much I couldn't see him very well) was completely stuck, upside down and panicking. I usually do my best to leave nature alone (except for slapping at mosquitoes), but I just couldn't leave this bird to die, starving to death while hanging upside down.

I threw my fleece over him while his mate screeched at me. He stopped moving as soon as he was covered, but I was concerned that he might overheat or have a heart attack from fear. I gingerly eased the fleece down a tiny bit, worried about an emerging beak pecking me at any moment, and saw that only the tip of his wing was trapped, wrapped tightly around the spiny branches. I quickly broke some of the branches away, then pulled his feathers free, my pulse racing as I hoped I was doing the right thing.

I pulled off the fleece and jumped back. The bird fluttered away into the undergrowth, his wing seeming to work at least partially.

I felt pretty good. The bird was free. Maybe he would even survive.

The glacier lilies were blooming in the snow melt.

Alpine vistas awaited.