Cherokee State Wildlife Area, Lone Pine Unit

 View along the trail looking westward

 

On Wednesday, May 6, the day after I turned 68 years old, I completed an early morning hike at the Cherokee State Wildlife Area, Lone Pine Unit.  This area is just four miles east of our house, but, because it is state game lands, it is closed to the public (except for licensed hunters and anglers) from September through April; the public may visit only during the hottest months of the year (May through August).  I arrived at 7:30 a.m. and did a 2.5-mile (five-mile total) out-and-back hike.  The trail loosely follows Lone Pine Creek, which was running high because of spring runoff in the mountains.  A convenient place to hike, but not particularly rewarding in terms of scenery or birding.

 View downstream (eastward) along Lone Pine Creek

Blooming pasque flowers were very abundant. 

As I returned to the parking lot, I noticed a group of a half-dozen large (1”) black beetles in the middle of the trail.  They were pretty unconcerned that I was there; they were more intent on procreation.  I believe that this image depicts both sexes, which were very different from one another.  Because they were in the middle of the trail, I was concerned that they would be crushed, although I only saw one other person using the area while I was there.

Two New Trails

View from the summit.  Mummy Range in Rocky Mountain National Park is visible in the background.

Last Friday, August 31, I helped the Trails Committee for my community install some rock steps on a particularly steep portion of one of the trails that threads through the open space in our community.  I had not yet walked this trail, and I was impressed with the scenery, so I returned yesterday (September 4) to walk this trail (called Maroon Bells) and another trail I had not previously explored, the Asbury Trail.

The view from the top of the Maroon Bells Trail is spectacular.  The Mummy Range, off to the south and across the Poudre River canyon, is visible in Rocky Mountain National Park.  Some of the Mummy's slopes still have a little snow from last winter.

Ranch and forest land adjacent to the open space in my community.

The stone steps the Trails Committee volunteers installed last Friday on the Maroon Bells Trail

At the eastern end of the Maroon Bells Trail, I picked up the Asbury Trail, which I had not previously walked.  This rocky, difficult trail travels along the contours of a steep hill with a full southern exposure; it was hot and challenging.

Cairns marking the Asbury Trail

As I rounded a bend in the Asbury Trail, I startled three magnificent mule deer bucks in full velvet.  One deer ran off, but the other two allowed me to capture their picture.  Since there's no hunting in our community, the deer are fairly tame and don't run long distances even when caught off guard.

Two of the three mule deer bucks I startled along the Asbury Trail

I took these images with my cell phone and enhanced them with Canon's PhotoProfessional program.  The originals are relatively low density images, so there's only so much improvement the program can make.

Hike to the Continental Divide

Yours truly at Thunder Pass--the Continental Divide--with Rocky Mountain National Park behind

Five members of the Red Feather Lakes Library (Colorado) Hiking Club (including me) climbed 1,502 feet in Colorado's State Forest State Park on Monday, August 20 to explore the American Lakes basin at treeline.  We started our five-mile each-way hike at 9,840 feet and turned around at 11,342 feet at Thunder Pass--the Continental Divide--at the northwest corner of Rocky Mountain National Park.

Our group on the American Lakes/Thunder Pass Trail approaching the American Lakes basin (extreme left of image)

Yours truly at Thunder Pass with the Nokhu Crags in the background

The American Lakes are also known as the Michigan Lakes.  They form the headwaters of the Michigan River, a modest stream that flows 69 miles out of the Rocky Mountains northward as a tributary to the North Platte River.  The American/Michigan Lakes lay at the foot of a glacial cirque that holds a much larger and deeper lake called Snow Lake.  Snow Lake discharges down a steep scree slope and feeds the American Lakes.  Several members of our group climbed up to barren, rocky Snow Lake, but I decided to join two others to ascend to Thunder Pass and the Continental Divide and Rocky Mountain National Park.

American (Michigan) Lakes, with the Snow Lake cirque in the background

Along our route, we spotted six moose (including five bulls) browsing in the alder and willow thickets at lower elevations.

Bull moose

Mountain Gentian

Elephant Head (the flowers, on close inspection, resemble a miniature elephant head)

This trek was a beautiful and dramatic experience that I'd like to repeat again.  The scenery was spectacular, the weather was perfect, and the company was great.  This was my second-best day so far since moving to Colorado.

Lady Moon Redux

 

I hiked the Lady Moon Trail in Roosevelt National Forest last week and liked it so much I got Kali to accompany me on a return visit on Thursday, August 16. She agreed that this likely will become our "go to" hike, although she did fall and scrape her shin pretty badly when the loose grit on the trail slipped from under her and sent her tumbling. We came across two fellows on the trail who live just up the street from us, and we met three representatives of the Poudre Wilderness Volunteers, an organized group of civilian rangers who look out for the trails in the national forest; one of them took our picture.

Kali at Disappointment Falls on Elkhorn Creek

On Lady Moon Trail

Cattle cooling off in the aspens

It's a banner year for currents; the bushes are producing a bumper crop everywhere

High in Colorado

Approaching the summit of Middle Bald Mountain

I joined the Red Feather Lakes Library (Colorado) Hiking Group on a short hike to the summit of Middle Bald Mountain ("Middle Baldy") in the Roosevelt National Forest on Monday, August 13.  The hike was short; we drove most of the way to the top, then climbed a few hundred feet to the summit.

The drive to approach the summit was long and challenging.  The route was almost completely on dusty dirt roads, and as the roads ascended, their quality deteriorated.  We ended up driving much more than hiking.

Nevertheless, the 360-degree view from the summit (11,002 feet) was spectacular.

View southwestward from the summit of Middle Bald Mountain

The best scenery lay to the southwest, where we could see snow patches in the mountains of the Rawah Wilderness and a portion of the Cache la Poudre River canyon.

Lunch at the summit.  North Bald Mountain (not bald) is in the distance at the right.

North Bald Mountain and South Bald Mountain (11,003 feet) were each about two miles away.

Yours truly (top left) at the summit with fellow hikers

Yours truly at the summit.  The deep cleft just to the left of me in mid-distance is the canyon of the Cache la Poudre River that rises in Rocky Mountain National Park

View eastward from the summit of Middle Bald Mountain

The east scarp of Middle Baldy is a dramatic, sheer drop of several hundred feet.  It was windy at the top--and more than a little scary to be at the edge.

The distance in the images is hazy because of the fires burning in California and, to a lesser degree, further west in Colorado.

Orange lichens; there were neon chartreuse lichens, too

A pasqueflower in bloom near the summit.  As its name implies, this should be blooming around Easter

After lunch at the summit, we hiked back to the trail and road that brought us near the peak.  This portion of the national forest is criss-crossed with very rough tracks used by off-road vehicles.  We decided to walk one of these woods roads for a short distance, but soon came across several noisy off-road vehicles in the forest.  Our group got discouraged and we retreated back down the mountain--a harrowing repeat of the drive up the mountain a few hours earlier.  Hikers hate ATVers.

Despite the short distance we covered, the view from the top made the trip worthwhile.

REBOOT

I retired from my 30-year position as the executive director of a local Pennsylvania land trust on June 15, and four days later Kali and I headed west to start our new life in Livermore, Colorado, at 7,200 feet in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains northwest of Fort Collins.

I'm more physically active than Kali and take a lot of walks around our neighborhood, reporting back to her what I see when I'm out (partially as a way to try to encourage her to come out with me--so far, with relatively limited success).  In any case, Kali said I should keep a journal of my observations in our new habitat, so I decided to revive It Just Comes Naturally.

I'm not going to start from the beginning just yet; I'll probably catch up over the next few days.  I'm going to start with the walk I took yesterday (August 8).  Our rural development includes 400 acres of protected open space, and there is a trail system throughout.  Unfortunately, the trails are very lightly used and, thus, not particularly well maintained, but they are passable with some effort.  Yesterday, I walked on the gravel roads through out neighborhood to reach the Crellin Canyon Trailhead.  I descended Crellin Canyon, then caught the Sloan Trail that heads east, skirting a steep, rocky hillside mid-slope until I reached Mount Moriah, a  promontory just outside our house.

Looking back westward to the mouth of Crellin Canyon

Mount Moriah's south face; the north face is wooded.  There's a trail cairn on the right.

The whole hike covered a distance of about three miles, with a change in elevation of about 450 feet.  Along the way, I spotted three Canyon Wrens on Mount Moriah and a few American Robins in Crellin Canyon, but I was walking mid-day, so most birds were taking a siesta.

I've been using my cell phone camera a lot (as I did for these images).  They're not as good as the images produced by my Canon.  If I continue this journal, I'll start to use my Canon more frequently.

Stay tuned for more.

JEAN'S RUN ENDURANCE HIKE

Jean's Run - downstream-most waterfall

Friday, October 27, 2017, was a perfect autumn day in southeastern Pennsylvania (sunny skies and temperatures in the mid-60s [Fahrenheit]).  I haven't used many vacation days this year, so I decided to play hooky to take advantage of the great weather to hike on a weekday when there would be few people in the woods.

Nearly 20 years ago, I had completed a challenging circuit hike in the valley of Jean's Run near the town of Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania.  Jim Thorpe advertises itself as being in the Pocono Mountains, and it is near the Poconos, but technically it's in the folded terrain of the Ridge and Valley physiographic province, not on the flat but highly dissected Pocono Plateau.  For the layman, these are minor points that would only interest a geology nerd.  Suffice it to say the landscape is Appalachian.

Somehow I had stumbled on Jean's Run while I was hiking in the next watershed to the east: the valley of James's Run, which tumbles through an incredibly scenic and popular gorge called Glen Onoko.  When I hiked up Jean's Run 20 years ago, the valley made a lasting impression on me.  I recalled vividly that, midway up the valley, Jean's Run suddenly emerged from a narrow cleft in the rocks and tumbled over a dramatic waterfall that was barely passable.

Because I plan to move away from southeastern Pennsylvania in a few months, and because I wanted to challenge myself physically, and because I wanted to see the incredible waterfall again, I made the Jean's Run circuit my goal for the day.

The Jean's Run watershed is part of Pennsylvania State Game Lands 141, an area owned by the Pennsylvania Game Commission (PGC) and set aside for hunting (and other recreation).  My route would take me eastward from the parking lot on a flat woods road maintained by the PGC along the top of Broad Mountain, and then along a woodland trail down the steep southern flank of the mountain to the mouth of Jean's Run.  From that point, I planned to bushwhack northward back up the trackless Jean's Run valley to the PGC's woods road and then to the parking area where I left the car.

I knew the hike would be challenging.  There's no trail along Jean's Run, and the valley is very, very steep and V-shaped, with rocks and boulders that have eroded out of the upper valley clogging the stream channel.  I knew I would have to crisscross the stream repeatedly as I made my way uphill/upstream, but the autumn had been fairly dry so I wasn't concerned about the numerous stream crossings.    

The top of Broad Mountain is flat, rocky, dry, exposed and infertile. As a result, the chestnut oak forest cloaking the mountaintop is open and stunted.  My walk eastward along the PGC's woods road through this forest was a monotonous slog that I had to complete to get to the "good stuff," so I walked as quickly as I could.  I only encountered birds (a small flock of Dark-eyed Juncos) at one spot.  After about a half-hour, I reached the trail that descended to the mouth of Jean's Run.

Woodland trail descending to Jean's Run

Jean's Run flows into Nesquehoning Creek, a much larger stream made ugly and sterile by coal mine acid drainage.  At the mouth of Jean's Run, I turned upstream (north) and began my ascent through the valley.  Very near the mouth, there's a substantial stone ruin that looks to me to be perfectly square.  I have no inkling about the purpose to the building.  However, from my previous hike, I remembered that there was a dam upstream.  The dam and the building undoubtedly were related.

Stone ruin near stream's mouth

Poured concrete dam

Upstream of the dam, there is no evidence of human occupation.  I made my way up the bottom of the steep valley through dense streamside rhododendron thickets.  Early settlers called these thickets rhododendron "hells" because of the difficulty of moving through them.  They got that right. 

Rocks and froth

After an hour or so, I was soaked with sweat, tired, and scraped and bruised from repeated slips and falls on the uneven rocks.  I decided it was time for a rest and for lunch.  So, I found a relatively flat surface with a good view of the stream and pulled out a honeycrisp apple, a Clifbar, and my water bottle.

Lunchtime view

There were also opportunities to photograph some russet fungi and autumn leaves.

Bracket fungi

Red maple and shining firmoss

After lunch, I continued my ascent.  I tried to stay as near the stream as possible to enjoy the sounds and scenery, but sometimes had to climb a bit up the hillside to avoid otherwise impassible stretches.

Typical Pennsylvania mountain stream: boulders and rhododendrons

After a while, I began to doubt that I had seen the cleft in the rocks with the gushing waterfall 20 years ago.  I was exhausted and battered and, frankly, I just wanted to get out of the valley.  At just about that point, I arrived a the spot I was seeking.

My route up the valley to this point was almost directly northward.  However, when I reached the spot I had remembered, the valley turned abruptly and Jean's Run began flowing from the west.  The first part of my hike was bathed in bright sunlight, but the valley oriented to the west was in deep shadow - dark and mysterious - a valley that Victorian writers would call a "defile."  And, at the mouth of the defile, there was not a narrow cleft in the rocks with a waterfall pouring forth like I had "remembered," but there was a huge vertical cliff on the southern side of the valley that had the effect of making the mouth of the defile look like a gateway into another world.  Just inside the mouth of the gorge was a beautiful waterfall (first image in this post) - not as daunting or intimidating a barrier as I had remembered, but a beautiful introduction to a valley that was full of five dramatic waterfalls.  The gorge was sublime.

(I would love to know the geologic origin of this valley.  The gorge here, in addition to being oriented east-west instead of north-south, was also even steeper and more rocky than the valley further downstream - if that was possible.)

I enjoyed the view of the mouth of the gorge and then began my ascent.  It was impossible to stay close to the stream here.  The valley was simply too narrow and choked with boulders to navigate close to the water, so I had to make my way a few dozen feet above the stream along the valley slopes.  Progress was extraordinary slow and footing was bad.  But, every few hundred feet, there were waterfalls.    

Second falls (counting upward from downstream)

A splash of color in the dark and verdant ravine

Third falls

Another draw for exploring Jean's Run is the riparian eastern/Canadian hemlock forest in the gorge.  The forest is virgin old-growth: 19th century loggers never stripped the hemlocks out of this inaccessible valley.

Fourth falls

I savored and photographed each falls in turn; after all, this is expressly what I had come to re-live and enjoy.  However, I really was exhausted.

Fifth (uppermost and final) falls

Upstream of the uppermost falls, Jean's Run passes under a bridge on the PGC's woods road.  I finally reached the bridge and walked the last mile back to the car like a zombie.  I can hardly remember being more tired in my life.

Pennsylvania Game Commission sign at road crossing

Postscript.  The next day, I plotted my route using GoogleEarth.  What I thought was a four-mile hike was actually 6.75 miles.  I descended and then climbed back up 1,000 feet in elevation.  A 2,000-foot change in elevation over a 6.75-mile hike in four hours wouldn't be too much of a challenge on a trail, but the 2-3 miles I bushwhacked up the valley over rocky barriers was the killer.

I badly scraped my right shin, I scraped my back when I slid backward down a rock, I cut my forehead on a branch, and I wrenched my knees (already in poor condition) in so many ways I'm still trying to recover.  I haven't decided if the trek was worth it, but I have decided that I'm officially old.