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Posts Tagged ‘glenwood springs’

I walk up No Name Canyon. It is not a canyon without a name, rather it is called no name. I venture away from the highway and the town, to a place unknown to me, and encounter something else that it often unnamed. The day is warm and sunny, the first of its kind in a long time, and as i take this short hike of discovery, away from the noisy din of the town, i discover something inside as well.

Few people are about as i enter into this narrow unfamiliar zone. I imagine that i catch a whiff of the scent of bear; and then again – i hesitate. i continue up the access road, passing the last homes and few people are around. I do not know if the bears smell the same here, but i wonder.

I am away from the town and the highway. I am aware of my aloneness. I hear the creek and the birds. I watch the water rushing over rocks and logs, beside trees in new leaf, the sun shining through, the elements connecting and i feel connected too. I feel a gentle breeze blowing through, and if i listen closely enough i can hear it too. It is the trees, grasses or the sparse undergrowth and me in this land.

Entering No Name

I do not venture up too far, i do not go into the back country or even too far into midcountry. At a place where a small stream, a trickle, crosses over the path, i hesitate. i think of the full creeks and flooding, i think of the heavy snowpack this year. i imagine the creek rising though it is a sunny day. i turn around and do not venture forth. Now i sit on a log writing – wondering if to go forth again, or to turn back, but i do not want to go back to the town quite yet.

I remember my first time in Colorado, actually my only other time here, 25 years ago. I was up near Estes Park – somewhere out of town, at a quiet, isolated hostel. It was my first encounter with wilderness. I was amazed and i was scared, afraid of what might be there, of what may come. i was alone, on a short trail, i am not sure where exactly, the air was fresh, and i felt fear, i was out of my element for i was a city girl, one who grew up in the suburbs. All was new to me – had never really hiked – perhaps a bit with girl guides, and never been in the wild, the wild that i craved, but that i now feared. I turned back to the hostel, ashamed, after pacing back and forth in place, but found a few others to go with later or was it the next day. I’m sure i must have held them back but i followed and listened, unsure about going on. I was 20 then, and have lived another lifetime plus since then. 

I sit on the edge of the trail, on a fallen log, wondering what i should do. The path calls me forth, and i do not wish to head back to the town, it is not yet time. I was unsure as i entered, and that uncertainty follows me. The truth is, i am still not truly comfortable in the wild – it calls me forth, but then i turn back to the land that we have built, and once there want to go out again. I know i prefer a tamer landscape, but this is where i am – on national forest land – land that i value, that is accessible to all, that is still untamed. There is a trail which people use, and i am not very far along, but the wild that beckons also feels lonely, and i feel out of my element. I am so aware of my presence here. But i have felt this in so many other locales, along so many trails, calling myself chicken and feeling bad. Still, i think of the access road, and the no trespassing and keep out signs in front of the homes, and that is what is often around in the created world, in the built environment, and that is how i often feel there, looking in to places i may not enter.

I picked a comfortable place to sit, but one without a view, crunched up on the edge of the trail. I feel i must continue on, at least a bit, see if i can cross the stream. For how many times have i turned back and asked myself why, especially after hearing about what lay on the other side, or further down the road. Is it a call to go forth or just a feeling that i should – one those should feelings that have more to do with the ideas of what you are supposed to do rather than to any true call. But i look up, and go on, something is calling.

The creek is easy to cross, in fact after stepping over shallow water, i step onto a log that crosses it – a log that has been smoothed and is an integral part of the trail. the trail passes next to the creek and i listen, listen to the sound of flowing water and feel alive, i pass through trees, and keep telling myself i will go to the next turn and then the next to get another view of the mountain tops. I am at peace. Well almost, for i keep asking how far will i go. But still, my perspective has changed, and with each bend, the lens shifts again.

I come to a place with some boulders on which to sit, a flat area by the water, with both sun and shade. I have climbed a bit and short steep walls

special place on no name creek

enclose the water, a mini-canyon of sorts, and i look down the creek and at the mountain tops in all directions. The trail seems to split here, the main part heading up and away from the creek in a series of switchbacks, another going down closer to the water.

I look at the trail heading up, ascending, and i know it will take me into another land. I feel that i should go up, and it is a should for the other path calls me more. I am not sure if it is a true path, but say i will take a look, and then perhaps return. i turn down it; it narrows and dead-ends by the water. I return to the overlook beside the creek, sit on the boulders and smoke a cigarette – something i know that i should not be doing here – but as always, i am careful, careful to completely put out the flame, pour water over it, and remove the butt, leave no trace, no trace of my presence.

I think of other mountain trails i have gone up, and the many i have not; the many where i have stopped short of reaching the top. Just the other day, i had gone up the Red Mountain, Jean Golay trail, but i did not make it to the top, the day had turned hot, and i had not brought enough water with me. I got close, to an amazing vista with a view and a bench, but i thought of how many times i had done that, come close and then stopped and turned back.

I think of my recent trip to Yosemite, where i finally reached the top of nevada falls – had turned back a few times before, on previous visits, first at the bottom, and then the top of vernal falls. But this time i had made it, twice, and the second time was much easier. i knew the path, i knew that i could reach the goal, so went up with confidence. I knew that to reach the top took some effort, and i could do it. Up top had amazing views of the valley and beyond, i was happy to have made it but also asked myself why was i here? Many others walked the trail, young and old, fit and not, and so i felt that i should too. But i had shown myself that i could.

I thought of Crough Patrick, and those who encouraged me to make it to the top when i wanted to give up; and again so glad i did not turn back, it was a goal i had set, climb the saint’s mountain, and while the views were grand, up top were gathered groups of people engaged in loud banter, milling about and greater peace was found along the path. But i made it.

And that is part of it, making it. But making what? That and avoiding the feeling of failure, of having missed out. I remember regrets of turning back before the top, of turning back in so many places out of fear, out of the belief that i could not get there or of not knowing what would be there. The volcanoes not climbed, the trails not hiked, turning back before i reached it, or never going for it because i told myself no. And i also thought of others where i continued up or down to prove a point, to prove that i could.

But here there is no single peak to climb, and the trails go back for 8 miles into the flattop wilderness, only to connect to more trails, and there was no where in particular that i wanted to go. Besides, there were no others around to encourage or to inspire me. And the trail veered away from the creek. Was it where i really wanted to go?

I again thought of Yosemite, and the upper falls trail, where i came close to turning back, it was crowded, a solid line going up, some dropping off at various points. I felt closed in on, pushed along at points, at congested vistas, and the trail was narrow so it was hard just to pause and be with the all, to take in the path itself and all it had to show. I had no intention of going to the very top, but to the overlook of the upper falls, and there i stopped and felt at one with the all, found a special place and sat for a while. I got to the place that i had set in mind, and while i did not spend enough time there, i reached my goal. And while later others, the alpha types, scoffed at this, i knew that my hike was mine, and that i also had views and vistas they had missed, and my destination was my own.

looking down no name

I breathe, breathe deep. It is me and the wilderness here – the mountains, the trees, the water, the stone. I watch the rush of the water again, flowing down. I feel its life, and the life of spring in the trees and new leaves. All opens up. all becomes clear. The mountains become alive and reveal themselves to me. A calm floats over me, and i feel that i could be here forever, at one, in this very spot. In this very spot. Then i know, this is where i am meant to be in this moment. This is the spot i came to, this was my destination for the day.

 

looking over no name

I stay for a while, a quietude coming over, the sounds of nature, its music, filtering in. The creek drowning out all negative thoughts, all thoughts, for a moment we join. The container of the canyon nurtures me, embraces me. Soon, i know it is time to go back, and i am now refreshed and revitalized. Now i am ready to emerge.

 
 
looking above and beyond the canyon

I descend. I am now travelling in the same direction as the creek. I am going with the flow and i am in flow. I look up and more guardians in stone appear on the rocky mountains and i thank them for looking over this place. The trees are more vibrant, and a large butterfly almost flies into me. I look down, and many tiny violet butterflies float and dance around my feet, encircling me, calling to me. As i head back, they appear many times, singing the song of new life. as i emerge from this canyon, i feel a new life inside, and for the moment, leaving behind the fears and feelings that often have no name.

 
 
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The noise, oh the noise, noise, noise. no i am not the grinch above whoville on christmas eve. But that is the way i often feel. and it is not the noise of laughter or merry-making that makes me want to hide my head away, but of the machines, the machines, called cars and trucks, that penetrate the soundscape.

I climb up high, but still i hear the dull roar beneath. I walk the paths, beside the river, but in the narrow canyon, that too, is the locale of the highway, the one that runs from east to west. the town is at the confluence of roads and rivers, and the second highway runs through the center, is the busy four-lane main street, and that is where i stay. the traffic that moves along, heaviest in the morning and evening as the workers make their commute up valley, but it is ever-present, and i feel it. I hear it, and feel the vibrations almost everywhere, i cannot hide, earplugs will not do, for i feel it in my cells and bones. This is it.

I had wanted a quiet mountain town, the ones that exist in the imagination – so it seems. I have stopped in Glenwood Springs, CO and the place is anything but quiet. And i should have known as i looked at the map and saw the roads around, something that had occurred to me before, and i had not come here, but something i ignored this time around.

I wake up to the roar as commuters drive alone, each in their individual vehicle, creating this soundscape. In the evening, i sit out front on the porch with another, and we must yell so that our voices are heard; conversation becomes difficult. I go to the hotsprings, but it is there too. The river, where the birds can be heard, and for a moment i am away, not completely, but still. I walk up a trail, views below, of the town and the roads, but also of the mountains, and i imagine what it was like before. In the supermarket the hum disappears; it is set back a bit, a well constructed solid building with musak playing inside. But where i stay, an old wooden home, it is loud – and the home feels it too, foundations cracked and more. And the noise penetrates my foundations, cracking them, vibrating inside.

This is the sound of our lives – machine, motors hum; tires over concrete, there is often no escape from the noise pollution that penetrates our lives. I have sought to escape, but find myself back here. I have travelled cities and byroads of the country, see sub-divisions built along the highways, highways so large they make these look like country roads. Walls as sound barriers build along side, but they do not stop the dull roar, perhaps contain it a bit. But it is there.

I noticed it when i arrived and got off the train. But then it stopped, or slowed. An accident on the main highway, the I-70, and the cars were ‘parked’ and many could not enter town, or turn onto the highway upvalley. But it is here, and louder and more pervasive than i

Get used to it – i hear. perhaps i have been lucky to hear the silence, or the sounds of nature, calming and uplifting to the spirit – the roar of the ocean is different, as is the rush of a stream or river. The calls of animals and birds, even crows, is not at metallic as this – the machines take over. yes, earplugs shut it out, but they shut out all if they work, the beauty as well, and i do not want to make myself deaf. I could the ipod, the tv, the sounds that enter in, a sound healing or noise pollution, but headphones on the street further to the disconnection.  And in putting up sound walls, we all become disconnected, and continue to create this, pretend it is not there.

I pull in and withdraw, as i do when i walk down busy streets, where the main noise if of cars, not stopping, no ebb and flow, but continuing. Where the sounds of other life are muted or drowned out. And that is the key, the other sounds are mainly absent and the din dominates all.

 My body tenses, and i feel it. i feel the vibrations, it is not merely through the ears; it is through the whole body. And it scrambles me, and i feel like i have entered a fishbowl in hell. And there are fewer and fewer places to get away.

Perhaps it is louder here, and it is not just my imagination. Just as valleys can become containers for air pollution, perhaps they can become containers for sound, the waves bouncing back off the mountain walls, reverberating, not dissipating, forming a field of their own. With the thinner air at this elevation, perhaps they travel faster and penetrate with greater ease.

The quiet small town i imagined, is anything but quiet, and so many places are like this. I think of a walk in the redwoods, above Santa Cruz, or camping on the oregon coast the traffic that i heard, the traffic that the trees and birds and plants felt. I remember the cities of Mexico and Central America where the traffic took over, and i quickly became scrambled. I think of other towns, Eugene comes to mind, and large cities, where the highways cut through, and you cannot get away.

What does it do to us?  In the beginning was the word. What is the vibration of the “words” we have created, those of the car age. When we encase ourselves in them, turn on the music, we blot it out, unaware of what we emit. but it is here – all – pervasive so it seems. So many studies of noise pollution, but we often overlook the all-pervasive din. Sound has the ability to heal and harm, and what is this background noise of our lives? How to change it – or is escape the only answer? And how to remove myself without a car and adding to the din?

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