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The first half mile or so is just above route 36, and the highway noise reminds us that we haven't escaped yet. But over the first rise, that intrusion fades away, and I walked into quiet pine, cedar, and aspen, on a trail that stayed tight to Lion Gulch creek. The snow mounded soft and white around gray rocks on the north-facing slopes. The ground was more bare on the south-facing side.
The creek was uniformely frozen but for the gentlest of movements and softest of gurglings deep under the ice. In the distance, bird twitterings hummed in an equally soft accompaniment. There was one squirrel who was impatient about something—maybe me—I was the only hiker here on this sometimes gray Wednesday in February.
After about 2 1/2 miles, the terrain widened into scattered wood- and grazing land. Today, Homestead Meadows seems way back in the woods, a long trek from civilization, but starting in 1889, these bowls and hills were settled and worked by many different familys.
The first homestead that I came to was that of Sarah Walker, the only lone woman who had moved into this area. Her cabin was gone, but her woodstove still remained, slowly rusting away. From this point many miles of trails radiate out to other settlements—farms, ranches, lumber operations. There are long-quiet remains of buildings, corrals, and fences, slowly being absorbed back into National Forest land.
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(click on any thumbnail for a larger view)
lunch stop
Homestead Meadows
Walker stove
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