Our hotel in Ouray is nestled at the base of the mountains with an elevation of 7,687 feet. Many of the peaks around us are over 14,000. Paul has been struggling ever since we got to Colorado, much like he did six years ago when we were here. Fortunately I am not so afflicted and only notice the elevation when I’m going uphill or climbing stairs.
We were at Box Canyon by 8AM this morning and I remembered from last time that the hike, both up and down, was well worth it. Paul is still feeling shady and decided to wait on the bus with some of the others. At the base, deep in the canyon, the falls were thundering through from high above then through a break in the rock face below, finally rushing through the riverbed strewn with large boulders.
From the parking lot level there were more steps up to the top, almost 100 of them, followed by about a quarter mile of narrow dirt trails, rocky paths requiring some boulder climbing, and steep inclines. But once at the top the views of Ouray and the canyon walls are spectacular. I feel like that’s a word I’m overusing but I can’t think of any words to sufficiently describe what we’re seeing. Even though I’ve seen this before it still amazes me.
At the top of the canyon a bridge crosses over the river rushing far below. Beyond the bridge a tunnel is hewn out of the rock. Although I had to stoop to make it through the I managed it because I could see the light at the end. Once through the tunnel I found a rickety set of stairs that ran (or hobbled) along the rock face. I decide to forego that adventure and head back through the tunnel and down the way I had come. I discovered climbing down over those rocks was more of a challenge than coming up, except my lungs were quite a bit happier. The burn on the way up felt like running on a zero degree winter day. Ernie, Martha (tour guide), Barb, Pearl, Merv, and I made it to the top. I am fully aware this could be the last time I’ll be here and able to do the climb. As it is my knees are chastising me more than a bit.
The skies are overcast today with blue skies peeking through on one side of the bus and rain falling on the other. The big sky landscapes allow visuals of multiple weather conditions at the same time. A beautiful rainbow peeked out in several places as we drove along. Our next stop was Black Canyon and The Painted Wall. I can’t even describe it. I recommend you take the time to plan a trip to Colorado and see all of these things. It’s worth it!
We stopped in Montrose for lunch, each going our own way. Dave, Irene, Jim, Ruby, Paul and I walked a short distance to a local diner and as is often the case of local dives, the food and service were excellent. I was back on the bus when someone called my name and said there is someone outside who wants to see me. It was someone I knew since childhood! Someone else on the bus knew they lived in the area and had met them for lunch and somehow our names came up and a connection was made. We from the Anabaptist upbringing call it the Mennonite game. No matter where you are in the world, if you play the game long enough you are bound to figure out someone who knows someone who knows the person you are talking to.
During a longer stretch of driving time this afternoon Dave was prevailed upon to tell The Hunting Trip Story. He finally gave in and told it.
Many years ago, Dave and three of his friends went on a hunting trip to Colorado. They rented a tent, bought state of the art camping supplies, stocked up on ammo, and armed with an impressive variety of weaponry, they set off for Rifle, Colorado and into the woods.
They set up camp and with all their supplies stowed in the tent they had a day of hunting but without any game shot so far. Three of them returned to camp and since it was cold one of them started up the little wood stove they had along. Dave slipped into the slippers he had brought from home and they prepared for a cozy evening enjoying some of the plentiful canned goods and fresh food they had brought along to eat. With the amount of meat they brought with them, everything from steaks to chicken, one wonders if they actually planned to shoot anything.
A propane light attached to a 20 gallon fuel tank changed everything in the blink of an eye. The hose connecting the light to its fuel source had no regulator which caused it to pop off when the pressure rose too much. It was flying around the tent like a fire hose gone berserk. A ball of fire on the end of the hose was causing a high level of concern among the big game hunters. The decision was quickly made to abandon ship, or tent in this case, and run for their lives.
Fortunately, the truck parked outside had the keys in the ignition and quick-thinking led Dave to leap in and move it to a safe distance. The large stash of ammo inside the tent started to do what ammo does when lit and canned goods were exploding and things were flying in every direction. It looked like the grand finale at the annual Fourth of July celebration. The three brave men dove behind trees and whatever else they could find for cover and waited until the fireworks finished.
What was left after the explosions stopped was. . .well. . .nothing. Their buddy who had not been back to camp yet for the day returned upon hearing all the “shooting” and wondered what in the world had taken place to leave the campsite looking like it had been hit by rockets.
After taking inventory and finding all of themselves uninjured, except for their pride, they called another friend back home to wire them some money, extracting his promise not to tell the wives they had basically blown up all the gear they had so proudly collected for this expedition. They finished out their week with less “glamping” and more bare necessities. And Dave did buy himself some shoes.
I’ll save The Bear Story for another time.
We had one more canyon to visit today but our plans changed when Lavern (our driver) and Martha (our tour guide) got word that a major accident along our route had shut down the expressway. A tractor trailor traveling westbound had somehow flipped into the eastbound lane and everything came to a standstill. This occured close to our next stop so the decision was made to skip that attraction for the day and go to our hotel instead. The necessary detour involved a three hour delay but the last we heard the road was still closed at the site of the accident. The driver of the truck was the only injury and our thoughts and prayers are with him.
We stopped at a fuel/convenience store along the new route, bought things for supper to eat on the bus and proceeded forthwith toward our night's lodging. With several hours still to go, Paul got out his guitar and we all sang our way merrily along. We were pleasantly surprised when Martha announced the hotel was only fifteen minutes away.
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