Colorado has had a tragic array of summer fires. It has been a bad year. In some places, the thunderstorms with rain that generally mark every afternoon starting in July did not arrive until late August. In others, the thunderstorms arrived on time but only to spark fires; one of the largest at the time was burning northwest of Lake City, where I was headed. 

A light layer of smoke began to fill the sky as I made my way south. Since I had an appointment in Grand Junction the following day, I considered turning around and just bridging the gap between where I was and where I needed to be some twenty-four hours later, which would mean missing the area that had been my dad’s number one recommendation. Thankfully, something kept me on course even as the faint odor of wildfire smoke began to fill the camper. 

The road winds through a beautiful, narrow canyon just north of Lake City. This canyon acted as a visual block to the giant mountains surrounding the town, which seemed to appear out of nowhere as I approached the city limits. I felt like I was in Austria, certainly not Colorado. It was an area unlike what I had traveled through before. Immediately, I knew why my dad pushed me in this direction. Yet, the wonder of being perched at the base of giant mountains was still no match for the news I was about to receive. 

The voicemail came through that my appointment in Grand Junction the following day has been canceled, as I ate lunch overlooking the town. You might think that this would be good news, after arriving in such a magical place, but for reasons discussed in the first post of this series, it set me into a mental pitfall. Tears, talking to nobody, a short fit of madness ensued.

Even though I had no idea what this meant for the following days, I knew I was done driving for that day and needed to find a campground. Since the best options were south, I headed that way and eventually hit a dirt road. I don’t like driving on dirt roads in the camper. Neither the suspension nor the undercarriage is equipped, but once again, something pushed me forward. Shortly after, I spotted a trailhead to the right, followed by a campground. Campgrounds with hiking trails attached have a special place in my heart, and I pulled in without a second thought. I now at least had a plan for the next twenty-four hours: I would camp there tonight and hike that tomorrow. Beyond that, I had no idea. Certainly, I had no idea that I would end up spending three very peaceful nights there.

With the mouse out of my mind, I snuggled in, watching YouTube. This campground also had fantastic cell service, which is quite uncommon and therefore a luxury that must be enjoyed on what would become a ten-day camping trip. To my surprise, not twenty minutes later, I was once again locked into eye contact with the mouse who had climbed up on the bench cushion in front of me and was at eye level. I said some words. 

To be honest, I kind of just wanted to let it be at that point, but the horror stories of mice damage in vehicle engines just would not let me. This mouse just does not understand the situation at all! I paused my video, set the trap in the narrow section between the parking brake and seat, tonight with cheese, instead of the peach I had used when it failed to make an appearance the previous night, and went outside to sit on the picnic table, peering up again at the magical night sky. Ten minutes or so passed before I heard the SNAP! When I eventually opened the door, I could not spot the trap but did see something white that baffled me; what IS that? I looked closer. It was the mouse’s white stomach. It was on its side, and the trap was also flipped on its side. My traveling companion was dead, and it would have been instantaneous. 

I put the entire contraption into a bag and walked through the darkness to the dumpster at the entrance to the campground and tossed it in. I apologized to the mouse and said goodbye. 

The smoke had cleared the following day, and it was time for my hike up Williams Creek. I had no idea how far I would go, but I knew from the camp host that the trail went up and over the mountains, all the way back to Lake City. What I did know was that I was setting off for a hike for the first time in my life, alone, in bear country. In Alaska, I learned that you just need to make a lot of noise so that you don’t surprise them. That seemed easy enough, and luckily, I had trekking poles that I could smack together when necessary. 

When necessary came right away. The brush was heavy, and there was no one else around. In fact, I would end up hiking for five hours, deep into the backcountry, and not see another person the entire time. 

I am not sure how many people reading this have had what I consider a primal experience, one when you can feel how truly weak and defenseless you really are out in nature. For those who have not experienced it, let me tell you, it is a mash-up of adrenaline, managing catastrophic mental images, being hyper-aware of every sound you hear and movement you see, while feeling a thousand percent alive. In fact, it would be quite good for everyone to experience this. Perhaps we would have more respect for our place on this planet. 

What started as randomly hitting my poles together accelerated into insistent singing out loud, the more miles from other humans I got. I felt ridiculous, but I did not care; it was just basic survival, and I was happy. Life had become so simple. I was enjoying the beautiful hike, and I didn’t want to startle a bear and die. I felt humbled and full of life. It felt great. Perhaps because I was truly present. My mind had zero capacity for any thoughts about the past or the future. The present was keeping me alive. 

This hike proved to reset my mind. On the following days, I found rest and peace, and I did end up culminating this journey with my appointment in Grand Junction, just as I had set out to do, though four days later than I had planned. But as they say, life happens when you are busy making other plans, and I am quite thankful for the life that happened outside of my other plans.