Mountain Hiking

Green Mountain Puts You Above It All 

Green Mountain is a wonderful neighbor to the southern part of Boulder. Most of the time, it is quiet and unobtrusive, a glorious backdrop, with its three dramatic Flatirons. It doesn’t force itself into your life. But when you need a break, it is there for you. 

Down in the city, there was bug-like traffic creeping on the streets and ant-like people scurrying over the Chautauqua open space. There was the whine of an accelerating motorcycle and a dull, background roar.  Was that the growl of traffic or a breeze through the branches?  I decided that it was both. 

Sometimes, civilization is an intrusion into a nature outing. I resent it a little.  I go farther to get away. Today, I simply felt glad to be here, instead of there. All those errands and chores were way down below, and I was in this privileged refuge way up high. I was an outside observer, not a part of that teeming activity. It was like all the car wrecks and explosions in an action film — far away, two-dimensional, cartoonish — No effect on me. 

Sometimes the people on a trail are an intrusion. I think, “If I had wanted crowds, I could have gone to the mall.” Today, I found myself looking at passers-by and even watching them a little as though they were wildlife — there we have a running-shorts trail jogger, an authoritative dog wrangler; here is one hiking to earphone music, a pair discussing world affairs, another pair out for a morning stroll. She said, “One mile; that’s enough.” There was a pair of sunbathers in shorts and tank tops. I was wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt and a windbreaker. In the shade, there were patches of snow and slabs of ice that didn’t seem to be melting. I thought, some of these wildlife habits are certainly curious. 

I ate lunch on a rocky mound, high on the canyon wall.  It was in the sun. The pines and firs were bright green against the blue. The sun really is brighter up here in the thinner air — the needles sparkle and dazzle. I lay back against a smooth rock and soaked in the warmth as in a hot bath.

The trees got shorter and shorter, as I climbed. The change felt like a measure of progress — the views became broader and the trees more stunted. Some were a foot or more in diameter, but they just couldn’t reach as high into blasting winter winds. Some looked like adolescents, but I thought they would stand there unchanged for decades. I’ve seen historical photos, before and after, 100 years apart.  Up high, the buildings come and go, but the rocks and trees are the same — almost. 

Approaching the top, the snow and ice became more continuous on the trail and two or three inches thick, but rocks and roots still protruded, so footing wasn’t too bad. The top was bright and open. I suppose any mountain peak will give you a thrill. On Green, the rocky tower lifts you above the treetops, and over there is Eldora ski area, James Peak, Audubon, and Longs Peak up north. The wide back range was snowy white with early-season snow. Seemingly empty ridges and valleys stretched between. 

So, I went over the top and down the other side. It felt good to be going down finally. These south-facing slopes were dry, open, and warm. A group had scrambled among the rocks above the trail. A woman stood high on a boulder, like a ship’s figurehead, like a lookout up the mast. She smiled big and waved. I waved back. 

Across the valley of Bear Creek, the north faces of Bear Mountain and South Boulder Peak were dark and snowy in the late afternoon. Down in the canyon, Bear Creek was flowing — black water. There were moss-covered rocks and little patches of wet snow nestled in shady hollows. The snow merged into the moss, and all were overlain by dead brown grasses. I could just begin to see into the future, the water seizing in from the edges, curls of ice at what are now splashing places, sheets of ice over the clusters of dead aspen leaves collected in eddies, all movement stopped, silence, and waiting until spring.

Originally published in the
50 Plus Marketplace News, 12:8, p.20, 1/2007.