Near the Nokhu Crags

Last spring, my main man and I did some pretty sweet cross-country skiing near Cameron Pass in northern Colorado. This impressive picture of the Nokhu Crags was taken in March. We decided that we really needed to come back in the summer to explore the area a little further.

So we did. The trailhead is only about an hour and a half's drive from Laramie by mountain roads, so it really was inexcusable that we hadn't yet hiked there.

Everything looks completely different in the summer, and the Crags seem much less intimidating with friendly alpine sunflowers smiling in front. Nevertheless, I was not planning on scaling the Crags, only hiking to some nearby lakes. These lakes are either called the Michigan Lakes or the American Lakes, depending on what map, sign or blog you read. In all fairness, I think they should really be the Colorado Lakes, but I'm not in charge of these things.

The highest lake, Snow Lake, which still did have a little snow around it in late July (so I won't fault it's name), was tucked in a rocky bowl that made a nice lunch spot. A few marmots and determined wildflowers were our only companions.

As we looked out over the beautiful valley we appreciated the view, but did not appreciate all the elevation we would have to lose before rejoining the trail that headed up to Thunder Pass. We hadn't been able to get as early of a start as I would have liked, and the afternoon was getting on. We could see the pass just over there. It was time to take matters into our own hands.

We made our own way over to Thunder Pass. The trail we had climbed hadn't been much of a trail, anyway--much of it had been more of a rock scramble--so I didn't feel any guilt about going cross-country. I made every effort to avoid squashing delicate wildflowers and I didn't start any avalanches. My chosen path involved some bouldering and some rock climbing and I lost more elevation than my hiking companion did, but I maintain that my way was less precarious, and thus better. It was a lot of fun.

There I am, perched like a mountain goat on a pile of rocks. At one point, I think I was following a bighorn sheep trail, which was very helpful, but I didn't see any of the creatures themselves. I could see some hikers as little dots of color way down in the valley and felt superior. If I had been able to climb Lulu mountain there in the background, I would have felt even better, but it was getting a little too late and the wind was blowing a little too strongly. Oh well, another time.

Looking back at the Crags from this angle was a treat, especially with all the vibrant paintbrush blooming in the foreground. The wildflowers everywhere have been fantastic this summer.

As we reached the ridge above the pass, we could peek to the south into Rocky Mountain National Park. Maybe it's the geographer in me, but I always think that hiking to definite borders is fulfilling. I took a break, making sure to sit inside the park. Just because I could.

Glacier National Park: Highline Trail

My parents have retired to Northwest Montana, and their choice of home is pretty impressive. While visiting in late July, we were able to explore Glacier National Park and take a great hike together. Starting from Logan's Pass at the top of the famous Going-to-the-Sun road, we hiked the Highline Trail along a cliff face, over another pass, across to Granite Park and down and down to a point a long way back along the road. The mountains were amazing, the flowers were beautiful, the company was enjoyable--it was a memorable hike.

I had not been up Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park since I was a kid. The curves and drop-offs were not as scary as I remembered. I guess I've been on a lot of mountain roads since then, and I enjoy these kinds of drives much better now, when I get to have the fun of being the driver!

There is just something special about Glacier's mountains. I love hiking Rocky Mountain National Park and the Snowy Range around here, but these Montana peaks seem somehow more rugged and remote, even though they don't reach as high elevations. They are high enough; we couldn't have hiked this trail any earlier without an ice axe. As it was, we had numerous snowfields to cross. We tread carefully since the slope was often steep. One guy in a group ahead of us lost his footing a slid quite a ways down. He was unhurt, but I didn't have any desire to mimic him.

All the snowmelt waterfalls were fun to cross and great to photograph. The flowers loved all the snowmelt, and I kept encountering new ones as we hiked along. I could start a blog exhibiting the great variety of flowers and probably never be finished!

A highlight of the hike was climbing a pass and coming face to face with three young, male bighorn sheep. They were having a great morning gallivanting in the snow, and they showed off for us, playing and hopping down the slope. At one point, they even sparred a bit with their horns, all in good fun for now, until mating season.
Later (and much further down the mountain) we encountered a less majestic but just as entertaining creature. This male blue grouse was blocking the trail and indicating quite determinedly, "None shall pass!" He fearlessly chased us and tried to peck our legs. He even followed when I went off trail to try to give him wide berth. My family and I had to keep him at bay with our hiking poles (which didn't faze him a bit, either). I'm not quite sure what he thought he was protecting, but it was pretty funny to watch people running from a little bird.

Fields of glacier lilies in front of the fantastic mountains made it hard to put the camera down. With all the flowers and deer and ground squirrels, I didn't stop taking pictures until we emerged back on the road. Then left the park for a well-earned, yummy cheeseburger and a local pint. It was a good day.

First Colorado Bear

Can you see him peeking through the tree branches? This handsome fellow was the first bear I've encountered in all the miles I've hiked in Colorado (and Wyoming) over the last three years. And there he was, right on the trail a mile or so beyond Gem Lake at the edge of Rocky Mountain National Park, about 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning in late June.

We left before 5am for the two hour drive to be able hit the trailhead before the weekend crowds, and this guy definitely made it worth getting up so early. The few other early risers were still milling around in the parking area as we climbed quickly up to Gem Lake, enjoying the cool temperatures that we knew wouldn't last and taking pictures of the interesting wildflowers (like this Miner's Candle) in the morning light.

As we rounded a corner, I noticed some grouseberries and thought of bears. I looked up to see the black bulk of an animal on the trail in front of us and stopped in my tracks. "Bear!" I said as my main man nearly ran into the back of me. We stared at him as he stared at us. I grabbed my camera for the quick snap, then said, "I think we should make some noise." With the adrenaline pumping, I waved my arms and said, with all the creativity of the moment, "Hey, bear."

He ran a little ways, then looked back over his shoulder to inspect us one last time. Then he disappeared.

Only then did I remember the bear spray that was sitting in the closet at home. After all, there are no grizzlies left in Colorado and I had heard that no one ever sees the shy black bears of Rocky Mountain National park. I guess that statement's not entirely accurate.

We continued north and only started to see other hikers when we reached the Cow Creek trail that has its own (much closer) trailhead and parking lot. Cow Creek was very full with all the snowmelt, so we decided to take the spur trail up to Bridal Veil Falls which would probably be at its most impressive.

I had not yet hiked up to Bridal Veil Falls, even though many of my acquaintances from Fort Collins had recommended it. It had just seemed like too short of a hike to warrant the long drive from Laramie. I was glad I had thought of doing the loop around Lumpy Ridge in combination with the falls, for, although the falls were pretty, the bear was better.


Returning back to the loop, we soon left the crowds behind again, and climbed higher into the forest. The day was now hot and sunny and my pace a little slower. I still found plenty of wildflowers to admire and photograph, and I enjoyed the quiet of the trail.

The last few miles were an easy downhill trek through meadows with the rocks of Lumpy Ridge to the left and the higher peaks of the park off to the right. It definitely felt like summer with the blue skies and sunshine.

After the hike, we drove over to the ranger station to report the bear, just in case they were keeping track of any sightings. The ranger, a friendly man with grey hair, said, "Put a gold star on your calendar. I worked and hiked here for twelve years before I saw my first bear on a trail."

Very cool.

Day Five of Glyndwr's Way: Dylife to Machynlleth

The last day of the trek provides the most dramatic scenery. After a scheduled taxi lift back to Dylife, we climb back to Glyndwr's Way and spend the morning walking the beautiful moorland. With not a soul in sight, we approach the highest spot of the walk, Foel Fadian, and revel in the silence and the fresh, cold breeze.

As we take a snack break on the slopes of the mountain, a cyclist glides past - the first person we have seen upon Glyndwr's Way. He's picked a challenging spot to mountain bike, which is probably why he's here.

As we round the corner of Foel Fadian, we see the lovely valley stretched out in front of us, and, beyond that, the sea. We are nearly there!


The trek down into the valley is picturesque and we try to soak up every bit of the scenery. It is a cheerful final day, and nothing makes the two of us laugh more than this cow (with hairstyle) who seems to be saying hello. As the afternoon passes, we start to see other walkers and know that we must be getting close to Machynlleth.

Owain Glyndwr may not be there, but his monument is. I feel a sense of closure and take off my hiking boots.

Day Four of Glyndwr's Way: Llanidloes to Dylife

Roy didn't have much time to rest after preparing last night's gourmet meal; all of us demanding guests still require breakfast. He is up to the task, and I appreciate another tasty full meal with egg and sausage 'bombs' and mushrooms and toast and excellent coffee. I'm surprised at my appetite, given that I enjoyed a five course meal only a night's sleep ago. I guess all this walking is good for me.

Today's routine will be slightly different, for, though we are continuing on Glyndwr's Way to Dylife, we will be spending another night here in Llanidloes. The inn at Dylife has apparently fallen below the minimum standards for the walking tour, so we will leave the trail above Dylife, hike down into the village and be driven back to Llanidloes by taxi service. I have no complaints whatsoever about staying another night at this great hotel.

Llanidloes is a charming town with this unique half-timbered market hall as the focal point. We pop into a shop for lunch supplies and emerge with some local Welsh cheddar. In the nearby bakery, the breads smell delicious. We buy a round loaf of whole-grained goodness of the sort that would cost almost five dollars in an American store like Whole Foods. The cost? 90p. And the patroness is a sweet old lady to boot.

We start our walk, climbing out of the town past farms and houses and a golf course with signs warning of potential golf balls flying from the left. It is early yet, and no one seems to be playing, so our braincases are safe from coshing. We walk through beautiful trees and continue westward.

We soon come to an enormous dam on the river Severn that was once the tallest in Europe and remains the tallest in Britain. We climb from the valley up to the dam itself, which has a parking lot with interpretive signs. An older German couple in a teeny (and cosy-looking) camper are the only other tourists at the dam. More people are interested in the reservoir, and we pass boats and picnickers. It is quite a pretty reservoir, reminding me of a Scottish loch, and our bread and cheese tastes great as we admire the view.

The trail winds up and down, now skirting along the shores of the man-made lake, now climbing away to old ruined buildings and country lanes. We round a corner to find an idyllic scene of ewe and lamb laying in a field of bluebells. I feel bad when they get up and leave.

Once we leave the reservoir behind and cross the Afon Biga (Afon meaning river, but Biga does not mean big), our map and guide show that we are heading for evergreen forests. It is not to be. The plantations have been harvested and we must walk through scenes of desolation. Clear cuts are not nice in any country.

But the stumps and devastation are soon forgotten as we climb up into the high heathland. The clouds are low over the moors and my mood should be melancholic, but I am happy. I lay on the heather and revel in the sponginess of the turf. It is dry and springy and wonderful. I am again grateful for the recent good weather, because I know this could easily have been one boggy, squelchy, endless stretch of trail.

Sooner than expected, we reach the overlook of Dylife and leave the trail to descend steeply into the tiny hamlet. We suspect that the mileage of today's walk was shorter than the other days, since we have over an hour to wait for our ride. We trek over to the inn and pub to pass the time with refreshments. The doors are locked.

We retrace our steps to a public telephone box near the main road. Despite having a pre-paid phone card (for emergencies), the phone will not work. As we fiddle with the phone, a car with a large learner's sign drives up the lane to the inn. A few minutes later, it returns, stopping in front of us. The driver asks, "Do you need any help?"

We explain our non-dire circumstances. The driver is on his way to Llanidloes and offers us a lift. He is the son of the proprietors of the closed pub (which won't open for another few hours) and runs the driving school advertised on the car's sign, so it doesn't feel like hitchhiking.

Dan the Driving Instructor returns us to Llanidloes in about ten minutes, which is a little discouraging. It has, after all, taken us all day to walk to Dylife. But, I comfort myself with the thought that the road takes a much less scenic and more direct route. And Dan zips down the road at such a speed that, if his pupils attempted to mirror his driving would undoubtedly cause them to fail their driving tests.

We arrive in plenty of time to phone and cancel our taxi.

Llanidloes seems like such a neat little town, and I am glad to have another evening to explore it. We stop in a old pub, which is happily open and holds locals who don't mind our intrusion. An elderly Westie shuffles over to greet me. Outside, kitties say hello. Our comfy hotel awaits. This is the kind of town I would recommend that anyone go out of their way to visit. Even though it's not on the rail line, you can always hitch.

Day Three of Glyndwr's Way: Abbeycwmhir to Llanidloes

I am ready for another day of walking the countryside. I have slept well, despite the odd environs and the over-eager neighborhood rooster who wants everyone to wake up at 4:50am. Nita does make us scrambled eggs on toast (no ham), but anyone's mother would be appalled at the lack of presentation associated with the Costco-sized box of corn flakes. I accidentally use the wrong bowl for my cereal and am glad to escape unscathed.

Today, the weather is more like what I picture for Wales: cool with low clouds and mist over the hills. The landscape is just as beautiful as in the sunshine, and much more literary. I can easily picture Mr. Rochester or Mr. Darcy riding though this kind of scene, though, of course, they aren't Welsh. I am thankful for my warm fleece.

We pass through forests with official signs that forbid the use of motorbikes and other off-road vehicles and suggest reporting any flouting of these rules. I don't see any motorcycles, but nearing a private lane to a house, I do see a hand-made sign saying, "Not Tom's 4x4 Farm". They have not posted a sign saying what they might be instead. We do not find Tom's 4x4 Farm, and I am not sorry.

Whether because this is the third straight day of walking or because of the weird vibes of last night's B&B, my feet feel more tired today. I happily take my boots off at another stream and refresh my toes, even though we haven't walked all that far yet.
We soon head into a farm ghost town, past numerous tumbled down buildings and mysterious old farm equipment. Not a soul is in sight. As I walk along old farm lanes passing some not-quite-ancient barn ruins, I suddenly feel myself being watched. The place could conceivably be haunted, if I believed in that kind of thing. The ghost is only a sheep with her own window in the corrugated steel.

We have lunch under a tree in a picturesque and oddly livestock-free meadow. After my sandwich, I take advantage of the lack of sheep poo and walk barefoot through the field, enjoying the feel of the damp grass under my toes. Boots back on, my feet are once again incredibly refreshed. After all this walking, I am finding that my abused feet appreciate any change from the hiking boots.

As we get closer to Llanidloes, the largest town we will pass through on the walk, we encounter many attractive horses and cute foals in what seems to be a slightly less sheep-centric zone. We also start to pass more houses as the trail follows a small road. The sun comes out again, the temperature warms, and I have no more need of my fleece. A suitably Welsh terrier emerges from the grounds of a B&B to have his ears rubbed. A church takes historical accuracy to the limit with its overly precise sign.

We see our hotel soon after reaching Llanidloes, since it is right on Glyndwr's Way (and has a sign, which I take as a good omen). One of the owners, Roy, fully-clothed (another good omen!), welcomes us kindly. He also wears an apron, since he is in the midst of preparation for our meal this evening. Roy's speciality is a never-repeated, set-menu, five course meal using local ingredients. He takes into account any dislikes or allergies of the guests ahead of time (I requested no bell peppers), but otherwise the meal is a surprise and an event. I am looking forward to it.

Roy leads us up a few flights of stairs through a narrow hall to our room. The bedroom is cosy and comfortable with windows overlooking the roofs of town and a pleasant garden square. The bathroom is enormous, and I have eyes only for the gigantic tub. A soak will feel so good after all this walking.

Despite being busy prepping a gourmet meal, Roy brings us a tray with hot tea. After a relaxing cuppa and a soak in the juniper bubbles, I am starving. We go downstairs to the sitting room to await the revealing of the menu. Two pleasant and friendly guests are already there: Alfred from Brighton and Antony from London, who are old friends of the hotel owners. All I know about Brighton is from literature like Jane Austen, in which it sounds tacky, so I don't mention that. Antony reminds me of a vicar; I never find out whether or not he is one (I don't ask) since we talk about birds instead of jobs. We are both especially interested in the red kites I have occasionally seen flying overhead during the walk, which have been rescued from near extinction.

Tom, the other owner, comes in to play the role of jovial host. He announces that we are waiting for the arrival of a party of four who are not guests of the hotel but live in the area. Little did I know that I would soon be in the august presence of the oldest woman ever to win Britain's Rear of the Year.

The four new arrivals are obviously quite wealthy, referencing recent time spent in Greece and Paris and Fiji and aboard some cruise ship that the Queen once used that employs seven servants for every passenger. I feel a bit self-conscious in my casual dress (I packed for walking, not fine dining), but I think that as an American I might just get a pass. They are quite different from the rest of us, but friendly enough in their own way and quite entertaining to listen to. One man says, "I'm off Beaujolais," which I didn't know was possible. Another refers to his property in Kensington, and even I know that that's a 90210 kind of address. When talk turns to the wonderfully sunny weather and I ask whether it is supposed to continue, they all turn to the blond woman. "She reads the weather on the news," explains the brunette woman. The weather lady amusingly doesn't know the forecast.

I later discover that the weather reader is actually semi-famous throughout Britain. Not only did she win the Rear of the Year for her shapeliness, she also participated in celebrity reality shows and was on the cover of Hello magazine. Her millionaire husband's daughter dated Tony Blair's son. I never knew we would be dining at such a posh place. I think this evening might just top my celebrity sighting of the Olsen Twins. Or at least Richard Simmons.

The five course meal unfolds over about three hours, and I enjoy it all, from the pear that had been marinated in red wine as the base for the salad to the fabulous cheese souffle. Roy has likely been having fun with a new kitchen gadget, since he garnishes the various plates with crisps made from apples, carrots, tomatoes and beets, to name a few. We chat across the aisle with Alfred and Antony about traveling and the established perceptions of different parts of Britain and the States. We have not ordered wine, since it is only available by the bottle and drinking half a bottle of wine hardly seems like suitable preparation for another day of walking. After a while, Alfred offers us some of his red wine to toast our holiday. The main dish is rack of lamb accompanied with potatoes and various vegetables including broad beans (British fava beans) and a great breaded zucchini. I feel a little guilty eating the lamb since I have been spending my days with sheep, but I have to admit that meat couldn't get much more local and fresh. It tastes excellent, and goes very nicely with the kindly shared shiraz.