Close your eyes and the wind sounds like class 5 whitewater crashing on rocks. It feels like a ghost, shape shifting around your body, in your face, down your back, into your ears. It smells like dry dirt in your nostrils and tastes like sand-cracked lips. Everything you own is covered in red dust. Welcome to Colorado National Monument.
We left the front side of the Rocky Mountains about a week ago, trading comfort and convenience for dirt and distress. Base camp sits on red sand and rock, Trango and Clam staked at every available tie down, flexing in swirling gusts, privacy panels flapping, fighting to stand strong as shelter. Our neighbors are a grove of gnarly bristlecone pines blogging about how hard it is to stay alive. Adapt or die, they say.
There is good reason the 3 million people of the Denver metro area do not often cross the Rockies. On the Front Range, it’s modified Jeeps on I-25 taking the Bronco’s fanbase to their jobs in the city. Western is a fashion style. Boots and a hat. Maybe a ski trip to Vail on a long weekend on the I-70 west through the Eisenhower tunnel. Basically, it is a suburban life with a mountain backdrop. We left that at Colorado Springs, which was tough enough in the mountain spring weather, as we crossed the Monarch Pass into the real West.
Colorado has four National Parks that we have already visited so that leaves the National monuments, recreation areas and forests to explore. Creating a National Park takes an act of Congress. It rarely happens. Congress gave the power to create a National Monument to the President under the Antiquities Act of 1906. The President can create a Monument with an Executive Order. So easy. And that is how Teddy Roosevelt protected millions of acres of precious land without Congressional action. When you see Congress today abdicating their power to the Executive, I.e. tariffs, just know that nothing has changed in the way that they work – or avoid work.
Colorado National Monument is for locals. It is a spectacular example of towering red rock canyons they like to call “little Grand Canyon.” It’s a place where you can roll into a no-frills, no generator, no RV loop with no reservation and settle into a life out of a scene from The Martian (staring Matt Damon). Red dust swirls everywhere in 40 mph winds attempting to collapse The Clam or flatten the Trango 4. Red spires, towering rock walls, and deep canyons surround us. It’s Mars, but with flush toilets and running water.
Homesteading on the Monument, we trust our adaptive skills and push out to the wide open spaces of the Rockies’ western range; where the Colorado River cuts through ancient rock and the world’s largest flat topped mountain overlooks everything. An hour’s drive to the base of this Grand Mesa, we tripped over the estate sale to end all estate sales and stuffed the truck with art supplies, vintage Made in Sweden Dala horses, and patioware for the Florida lanai because we had absolutely no extra room – but, the prices!
The 63 mile scenic byway climbs more than 7,000 feet through Aspen and Fir forests, where snow was too soft for snowmobiling and too deep for four wheeling. Alpine lakes were frozen, but at lower elevations the trout were biting. Without rods and tackle, cross country skis or snowshoes, we stuck to blacktop pullouts to bask in the gravity of the landscape. At the top of the Grand Mesa, a stunning lodge handmade from Washington State timber tempted us with a For Sale sign. This place has potential. It is still basically undiscovered. If we brought in a Top Chef contender and glammed up the cabins, Grand Mesa Resort could be the next Marfa. We are actively seeking investment partners now. Who wants in!
Back at the Monument, the philanthropic arm of the CNM was raising money with a concert at the amphitheater. As campers, we were mandatory invited guests. Mark on the oboe and Justin on double bass were playing hits from the Baroque period of classical music. Patrons of the arts donned for date night absorbed the melodic sounds of reeds and strings bouncing off canyon walls in the wind. We blended into this Red Rocks experience with our Goodwill Patagonia clothes and camp chairs, concluding that most baroque pieces for oboe and bass sound pretty similar. Not exactly toe tapping, we nodded our head knowingly at the name of each piece to mingle with the sophisticated local crowd.
Showers of all kinds are rare at our Mars encampment. Eric tried washing his hair with the solar shower in the tentacles of a pine tree while Sheri waited to use the benefits of our Colorado State Park yearly pass to wash off the red dust. Crisp and clean from the showers at John Robb Island Park, we side tripped to Palisades to soak up their artsy vibe. Practicing art means looking for inspiration through others’ eyes. Noticing techniques, composition and perspectives and wanting to make your own version of it. Where we felt manufactured commercialism in Manitou Springs, we felt down-to-earth offerings in Palisades.
Later back on the rustic camp loop, eight mini-busses of seventh graders rolled in to eight adjacent sites. A Colorado Magnet High School had determined that learning took place best when students were immersed in nature. The six teachers and 40 students had just come off three days rafting the Colorado river and were spending one last night under the stars before heading back to Denver. With not a single cell phone between them, the group made camp, shared lessons learned on the river around a camp fire, and passed out before 9 p.m. Maybe there is hope for America’s next generation.
