I woke up earlier than usual Tuesday morning and didn’t realize it until later. I was well into my morning routine before I happened to notice a clock.
6:10? Why am I awake at 6:10?
I looked out the living room window and saw why: the sky was already light, a glowing light even though sunrise was a good 45 minutes off. Even official twilight was a few minutes away. Yet it was already light out.
With cooler temperatures elevating the risk of contracting COVID-19, it’s more important than ever to spend time outdoors. This winter, we’re providing more options than ever to help you do just that. We have six programs designed to address every level of outdoor enthusiast, from the backcountry explorer who’s comfortable going off the grid, to the aspiring hiker yet to set foot on a natural surface trail. We’ll start with the latter:
In the early 1980s I lived in Loveland, Colo. On weekends, I would drive up U.S. 34 along the Big Thompson River toward Estes Park, into the Arapaho & Roosevelt National Forest. I would typically stop well short of Estes, sometimes not even making it to the tiny crossroads of Drake. I’d find a roadside pullout, get out and start hiking: there didn’t need to be a trail, as long as the terrain was passible. It wouldn’t be long, scrambling up the steep canyon walls, before I’d start fantasizing that I might be the first person to have ever made it to the ridge above. Hey, I was in my 20s. What did I know?
Several mornings this week when we walked out the door, we could feel it: with temperatures in the low 60s — rising only into the low 80s — summer’s stranglehold was loosening. It may have a full month of residency left according to the calendar (fall doesn’t officially start until Sept. 22), but fall has begun elbowing its way in. Sure, we still have some hot days remaining. But the transition has begun.
We had just crawled into our tents Friday night when the rain started: a gentle patter at first, the kind known for lulling you to sleep. Then it got down to business.
I drifted off to sleep realizing that the weekend of cavorting in the pools and cascades of Wilson Creek that we had planned might not come to pass. We’d been waiting weeks, in 90-degree-plus weather, for the chance to jump into these chill mountain pools, then sun off on the adjoining granite slabs, and repeat. Oh well, I thought, good thing we have a Plan B.
