Why?

August 6th, 2023

I had a small glitch in a solar cable last week at Camp Hale. My batteries were down to 12%. I discovered the source of the problem and fixed it, but with the mostly cloudy and rainy days, I could not get the charge back up. Each night I was in danger of a power outage that would leave me with a refrigerator of warm and thawed food. So, when my reservation was up at Camp Hale, I decided to spend 1 night at Stagecoach State Park near Steamboat Springs. There I could get a site with an electrical hookup that would get my batteries back up to 100% in 1 day.

After that afternoon and night, I was ready to depart. On Friday, I drove back south to my intended destination of Bear Lake USFS Campground west of Yampa and nestled in a long valley surrounded by the Flattops Wilderness Area. This was an area I visited last summer several times, and really enjoyed it.

As I drove up County Road 7 from Yampa shortly after 7 a.m., the air was crisp and clear. The morning sun lit up the yellow tassels of the grassy meadows on either side of the road. Ahead I could see the shadowed folds of the peaks, still hiding snow drifts left from winter. Magpies flew up from the roadside fences with raucous calls. I passed a small ranch, and a large white dog ran into the road, keeping pace with my rear wheels and letting me know this was a No Parking area.

Ahead, I saw a Mule Deer standing on the pavement looking at me. I slowed as it ran to the right and leapt over a 4-foot wire fence. Five more deer emerged from the tall grass to the left and each hurdled the fence in single file, following the first. Their hooves cleared the top wire by 1 or 2 inches as their agility resulted in no wasted energy. Once they were in the right-hand field, they all looked back. I slowed more as that could mean more were going to pass in front of me. Then I saw a doe to the left paralleling the road. The grass was halfway up to her back, so the only thing I saw of her twin fawns were their heads and large ears. Each had an ear cocked towards me while the other ear was swiveled to the left and back, ever on guard for any approaching predator.

I drove on as the pavement ended and gravel began. A sign marked the edge of the National Forest and declared “Rough Road Ahead”. The sign was right last summer, but now it was incorrect, as the road had been freshly graded, removing the washboard surface that had tried to rattle your teeth out of your jaw.

Birds flew past ahead, flushed by my approaching truck and trailer. Small ground squirrels and chipmunks skittered across the road as if to say, “Dare you to hit me!” I believed I was the least of their worries, as ahead I could see a circling Red-Tailed Hawk.

As the road climbed, I passed a few “dispersed campsites”. Most were empty. If was Friday morning and most of them would be filled by weekend campers later in the day. I passed these as my destination was higher up, close to the 10,000-foot elevation, where campsites were hidden by the forest and nighttime temperatures would be in the low 40s. Only the spartan campers continued that far and day users came later in the morning after the sun brought the air up to the more comfortable 60s.

I rolled into the Bear Lake USFS Campground next to the lake, above Bear Creek, and at the foot of Flat Top Mountain, towering above to 12,354 feet, and still frosted with snow fields. There were plenty of sites available, but I chose my favorite, number 22. The back end of which was terraced with large boulders and wildflowers. The sides were forested. Little grey Pine Squirrels (Chickarees) played tag in the shadows underneath. I stepped out of my truck to survey the most level location for my trailer and was accosted by Broad Tailed hummingbirds buzzing around my head like giant bumble bees.

It took about an hour to set up my trailer. Then I took a walk up to the lake. I took my fly rod and made a few halfhearted casts over the glassy water. I had one small rainbow strike at my grasshopper imitation, but I was too slow setting the hook. I sat on a shoreline boulder and scanned the lakeshore for wildlife. I saw none. But, far up the lake was a “sit on top” paddle boarder, coasting about 50 yards off the shoreline. He was accompanied by a Labrador Retriever who kept pace with him, alternating between running through the shoreline grass, leaping into the water, and swimming around logs and boulders that blocked his progress. Soon they were too far away for me to see the dog, but the sun reflected off each splash like tiny diamonds exploding from the water.

Two Canada Geese flew down the closer shoreline, turning inland when they detected me, and honked a goodbye. All around, twenty or so feet into the lake, ripples of water expanded where small trout were feeding on tiny bugs floating on the surface.

Back in February, my friend Phyllis had sent me a book for my birthday. The author was David James Duncan, and the title was The River Why. It is a book about fly fishing and fisherman and questions about life. I had known of this book for many years, but never got around to purchasing a copy. I started reading it during the winter during boring days in the Sonoran Desert. But my reading lapsed once I started my spring trip north. Last week, during the rainy days at Camp Hale, I picked it up again. I reached the middle chapter where the young fisherman in the story had come upon a deceased fly fisherman floating in the river. In his mind, this brought up questions about existence and death. He climbed to the top of the small mountain that overlooked his cabin and the river that flowed by it. He noticed for the first time that the bends in the river formed the cursive word “Why”. That word sticks in your head and makes you wonder, as you sit on a boulder and view a blue mountain lake, snow covered peaks, fish rising to feed, and thinking about the things that had crowded your senses that morning.

Why am I here, living alone in a trailer, and seeking solitude in the Colorado Mountains with days like this? I think I have an answer. It is because after 67 years of a heart beating, being battered, and getting broken, it is here…

that my heart still sings.