Rocky Mountain National Park

Zen-like View

Climbing out of the Colorado desert titanic mountains march North-South in a massive migration spanning eons and stretching from Canada to Mexico.  Meet the Rocky Mountains.

Travelling at maximum speed takes forever to get there.  Driving Eastward at 80 mph behold behemoths reaching for the sky in a slow motion dance highlighted by the sun and underscored by shifting shadows.  Clouds form, gather, and vanish above, around, and in front of the mountains like characters in a play.  The Rockies face the Heavens above and creatures below with indifferent magnificence.

Eventually, climbing up foothills, up the mountain skirt steeply the landscape changes to dense bush, the air thins, and panting, almost gasping for oxygen you end up on the Continental Divide.  The Pacific watershed lies westward, the Atlantic watershed eastward, and each is impossibly far.  At this point in the range the altitude is a mere 9,523 feet above sea level; the summit road reaches an altitude of 12.300 feet with Zen-like views.

Accessing the Rocky Mountain National Park is most convenient from Estes Park, a small alpine city with every sort of accommodation, although the most intimate way to this national treasure is by camping.  Either way, this formidable high-altitude expanse is rewarding, yielding extreme sights.

Alberta Falls

West of Estes Park is Alberta Falls, a robust gushing waterfall within hiking distance from the parking lot.  Sparkling alpine water is a refreshing sight cascading and thundering down granite boulders, delightful to behold.   Climbing to the top and seeing the water tumbling, or staying at trail's end to enjoy the display is certainly worth the effort.

Bear Lake

A strenuous oxygen-deprived two mile hike from the falls delivers a group of alpine lakes the closest of which is Bear Lake, quaint and classic with jutting granite peak backdrops.

Abyss Falls

Intrepid drivers may tackle a one way dirt road steeply climbing from near the park entrance to the summit.  On the way to the top is a hidden gem called Abyss Falls.  This waterfall is continuously carving solid granite into a narrow tubular channel tumbling precipitously into the abyss: a fluid yet steadfast sculpture.

Jagged Moutains

Jagged mountains impress upon all sides on the trek to the top.

Summit - RMNP

Approaching the highest peaks accessible by car is rendered dramatic by rarefied air and endless vistas.
Elevation 12,301feet, more than two miles high is crystal clear, the atmosphere a rugged ambiance.  And, the alpine setting is rich in wildlife.  Nature's bounty is abundantly clear.

Nature's Bounty

Plentiful elk roam gracefully grazing and posing; suddenly sprinting and galloping away; tolerating humans up to a point, bolting when spooked, they're gone.  Here one minute, miles away the next, effortlessly, foraging, drinking melted snow pooled here and there and everywhere conveniently placed in this wildlife playground.  Often, summer thunderstorms turn even the most idyllic hill tops into moody mountains.

Moody Mountain

Fresh air combining with vast vistas fuels the imagination, flaring into ancestral dreams.  And everything is green.  Patches of snow persist well into August highlighting verdant mosses with their complimentary orange lichen.  Alpine views greet you as if smiling.

Alpine View

Crows crackle their craven craw, gliding, soaring, searching: a murder in flux.

Crows Crackle

Marmots scurry in and out of dens stopping to stare and wiggle whiskers: sniffing out the air.

Scurrying Marmot

Distant hawks keen their killing cries while pikas screech high pitched notes ears piercing anew and Elk Bull bugles his mating calls, in rut.

Elk Bull

Suddenly the realization hits that we are like aliens from another planet freshly landed and witnessing a fragile system best left untouched, a prime directive to not interfere: to look and not touch or it will break and shatter like a broken dream.

And yet this is home.  Peace descends like a warm shower.  Little things show off their beauty.  The lichen seems a little redder, the sky a little bluer, smells a tad more pungent, and sounds a whole lot keener; even touching is sharper, describing jagged rock edges and smooth moss textures.  In short, senses are heightened and freedom reigns at one with nature and yourself: atone.

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK PHOTO IMPRESSIONS

Getting to Yellowstone National Park is an expedition.  As in days of yore when going somewhere meant careful planning and long time travel the trip to Yellowstone is rewarding, satisfying the need to get away from the hustle of the modernity.

The park is huge.  Covering almost 3,500 square miles, Yellowstone is about the size of Puerto Rico, or Crete; and probably more isolated; certainly less populated.  The best way to get there is by flying to Bozeman, Montana and driving alongside the Gallatin River to the North Gate just past Gardiner, MT.

The Roosevelt Arch to the Park is a relic of days when stone masons would labor to erect a rustic monument in the middle nowhere just to make a proud civic statement.

Driving there is long. but it goes fast.  There is so much to see.  The landscape is vintage Western.  It is mountainous, forested, and overflowing with streams, rivers, and lakes; the wildlife plentiful and primordial.

Before even entering the park you will likely see eagles, deer, elk, moose, and the ubiquitous crows.
The air is freshly pine scented cool and tingly with oxygen.

Occasionally, moose will venture quite close the road and a bull moose may be spotted chomping on riverbed weeds like so much watercress salad.  It is a sight to behold as your eyes are inundated by the sheer massiveness of the antlered beast.  Moose are not funny-looking deer, instead they are bigger and much more dangerous; especially a calving cow, charging with the least provocation.  But on a warm sunny day with a mouthful of wild veggies, a bull is secure in his size and will rather enjoy some gastronomical bliss than attack curious onlookers.

Going inside, the park swallows you into its primeval entrails: it's a new world.  It is pristine and mostly untouched but for a few incredibly spaced, far apart attractions.   This is no amusement park, this is no Disneyland.  The park's sheer size dilutes the steady influx of travelers.  Mere tourists seldom venture into the wilderness, but when they do, they are like exotic birds blown in by a storm.

 

Native birds are making their homes in local trees sheltering and breeding, preying and feeding; ensuring their survival.  Bald Eagles nesting are not uncommon and nobody messes with them, not even the next great bird of prey, the Horned Owl.

Relatively close to the North gate sits the smallest of settlements, Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel and cabins, as well as park training facilities. At  Mammoth Hot Springs the landmark minerals deposited on the rocks by steaming hot eruptions congeal into monumental formations quite similar to stalagmites found in caverns.

Crystalline mineral formations are colorful and appear to be flowing with rich caramel undertones making them seem incredibly yummy.   There are also crystalline white terraces evoking a sense of palatial marble steps in their pure white brilliance.  A Mammoth Hot Springs sunset is particularly compelling with its soft warm pastel colors.

Deep inside the park lay a multitude of boiling pools steaming away like pots of boiling water.  Each hot spring bubbles to a different tune and blushes to a different shade of blue, yellow, or red.  Some have clear hot water and others are stinky colorful "paint pots" wafting sulfurous barrages every which way assailing the nostrils with their mineral fumes.

So much geothermal activity: steaming, hissing, boiling, and bubbling; all the sulfurous emanations and arrested-in-time rock flows impress all the senses with the sudden realization that this is a volcanic caldera so huge and old that nature has been disguising the fact that this is a Super Volcano.  Colorful hot spring geysers abound.

Walking on a boiling cauldron is invigorating and somehow energizing to life all around, including thermal spring-fed grasses.

It is easy to visualize ancient Earth as a couple of wolves traipse past on the horizon eyeing you in their surreptitious way as they vanish into the woods.  Then imagine how they might survive the cold winters.

Or, seeing a grizzly bear foraging on the mountain side a few hundred yards away.  No, it's not Yogi Bear, or Boo Boo.  This is one scary fur ball and you best keep moving right along.  Which is why there are no pictures!

Then there are the Bison.  Of the millions that roamed the North American continent as late as the 1900 only one small bison herd survives naturally in Yellowstone National Park. Bison are magnificent and in their grandeur tolerant of onlookers - not too close - content to graze peacefully as gawking visitors snap countless pictures in perfect awe.  An annoyed bull bison will display his feelings, a warning best heeded.

Bison lives unfold without meddling people just fine.  Their food source plentiful; their energy needs met by the many geothermal pools all during the frigid winters.

Yellowstone Lake, an amoeba shaped body of water central to the parks ecosystem is a favorite with fishermen for its catch and release trout.   Around the lake are situated the biggest facilities such as Grant Village and Old Faithful Inn is relatively close.  The latter is closer to the geyser.  In either case, staying at the park and visiting the lake like it was your own back yard is an entirely different experience.

Old Faithful Geyser is the most famous geothermal feature in the US.  So named because it erupts roughly every 90 minutes shooting between 4,000 to 8,000 gallons of boiling water up to 180 feet.  It is a desolate undertaking oblivious to mankind.  A friendly reminder that the Earth was here before us and will continue long after we're gone.

There are 13 major and 17 minor waterfalls and of the thirty, Lower Yellowstone Falls is one of the most amazing geological features in the park in what's called the Little Grand Canyon. It is as unexpected as it is inaccessible.  The roadside view is magnificent and the scale so grandiose that pictures cannot compare.

Another amazing waterfall is Tower Falls and measuring 132 feet it is probably the most spectacular.  It is easily viewed from the road, and somehow seems more delicate.

The most incredible hot spring is the park is the Grand Prismatic Spring.  It is the largest hot spring in the US and the third largest in the world, right after two from New Zealand.  Nearly 370 feet in diameter and 160 feet deep, it holds about 560 gallons of 160 F degree water coming straight out of the Earth's depths and reflects light in the most beautiful turquoise end of the spectrum.

Aquatic cyanobacteria give the Grand Spring its signature prismatic colors: yellow, green, orange, red, and brown.  It is simply gorgeous.  If you like sulfur, it will smell great too.

At the Grand Prismatic Spring it is plain to see how Yellowstone Park got its name when looking around all you see is yellow in its various permutations and shades.

Leaving Yellowstone is the hardest part.  Once there, you may never want to leave.  But when you do, exiting toward the small town of West Yellowstone is probably the easiest.  It is the quickest the same way that saying goodbye is easiest when done quickly; lest you linger.   And it will always seem too soon; abruptly.

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Please visit Romagosa Fine Arts

Thank you,

Juan Romagosa

TRIP TO UPPER YOSEMITE FALLS

On the first week of August, after one of the wettest winters in recent history we entered Yosemite National Park determined to scale forbidding Yosemite Falls.  It was getting late in the evening and every campsite in the valley was full.  Fortunately, we made our way to the backpacking campsite far from car campers; unfortunately night was falling ahead of us and we barely found time to grope through setting up tents before it was pitch dark.   Sleeping was instant and short.  We were stuffing food supplies into bear canisters hoping to thwart overzealous bruins from decimating our rations, when who should poke a furry head from behind the raspberry bushes?  A juvenile bear was foraging about forty feet away oblivious to our stingy ways.

Quickly donning our fifty pound backpacks heavy with tents, sleeping bags, clothing, emergency kits, food, and heaviest of all water filtration equipment, we hurried out of there and up to the trail head.

I was pumped from jamming a week's worth of hiking supplies into the backpack and feeling it before setting foot on the overwhelming path upward.

Trudging up the lower Yosemite Falls trail in relative morning coolness we scampered between rocks and shallow roots of conifers graciously shading our path.  Hours later we would segue into loose rocks and decomposed granite switchbacks under a relentless midday sun that hotter as we got closer to the top.

 After walking for hours seemingly going nowhere and thinking this was my craziest idea yet; while sweat burned a stinging path into my eyeballs, my throat swollen and dry making swallowing a scary rasping experience we rounded a corner and lo and behold: the dry trail was greeted by a the gentlest of tinkling springs caressing hard granite rock in an orgy of life.

Off came the backpack and in the company of gently fluttering butterflies in the midst of ferns and wildflowers my sweaty head sampled the cool water pouring down the vertical head high gush.  A baptism ensued replete with epiphany, such was the ecstasy that assailed me.  Shirt come off in a flash and for what seemed like one unlawful moment of carnal knowledge I was experiencing Heaven on Earth.  My swollen hands shrank to near normal and were soon putting that wretched pack back on.

We climbed ever higher, painfully stepping, methodically, stopping endlessly on butt-high rocks, resting our sore backs and catching our breath.  Finally, after in interminable stint we came around the bend and there it was: Yosemite Falls.  Not only did the site fill our entire field of vision, but our ears were inundated by a faint rumble and our nostrils alerted of a distant cool mist.

It was time for lunch. Break time.  Hiking boots off!  Dig for grub and lighten the backpacks by shifting the food we carried externally to our empty grumbling stomachs.

Once again cool, shod, refueled, and reloaded we resumed our climb.  But, we had rested too long and chilled muscles were cramping.  My upper thighs burned and threatened to clamp down each time I lifted my weary calves and aching heals up a rocky step.  My knees would be buckling soon.  We must stretch.  And so we did.  There were not many people on this pilgrimage to the sky, most having dropped off after seeing the waterfall, returning to the valley.  Stretching, we relieved ourselves of aches and pains.

We were more than half way up and very near the water now, having risen to the bottom of Upper Yosemite Falls.  A plume of white water was tumbling over a jet black granite rock face almost withing reach.

On we went. Each step higher, each time higher and steeper; hotter, breathless, swollen, sweating.  Were we there yet! I was afraid evening would catch up with us on the path.  We climbed out of the tree line and into just rock.  What a sight to behold!    Upper Yosemite Falls tumbling into white spray cresting and pouring over the granite top in one blue sky rush.

It was getting late. Would we get there before night fall?   Could we make it to the top, to the now mythical - in my mind - camping Shangrila?  Must we go on...?  Hurting and aching I reached a detachment where nothing seemed to matter: it would all work out even if night came and we had to camp on the edge of a cliff.  What about mountain lions and bears?  Who cared?

Interminable steps led us to the top with the last sun rays.

As the terrain flattened we were greeted by small tributary from Yosemite Creek which seemed to say: "Welcome, you have arrived, drink of these fresh waters and let me guide you to your chambers."  Wherever they may be was our next almost desperate question.  Dusk was here and night was practically upon us.  We were hungry, tired, and sleepy.  We could camp anywhere.  Yet something as seemingly simple as setting down backpacks and staking down tents soon became complicated as we selected a site by the water which should not be too close - for safety - but near enough to fetch a pail for cooking and filling up the filtering system for drinking.

Suddenly short tempers, not fully flaring, forced us to find a fantastic spot, slightly far from the river, but we managed.
Fire, man's best friend (never mind dogs), came to life above my match, comforting and protecting like a benefactor.  We cooked  the best tasting chilly of our lives, warmed the old bones, and found solace against real and imagined lions and bears.
Tents went up in record time and never did "hitting the sac" ring truer than when we crashed in our sleeping bags.  Mr. Sandman assaulted my vision with a sandstorm.  I was instantly asleep.

I woke up first in a pleasantly foreign, pristine day which said hello with the primordial and detached intimacy of a wilderness that could not care less if you lived or died, but which would be content with either condition and be complete with both.

It is Nature's uncaring detachment that we secretly hate.  We'll do anything to change her, to impose our will on her as if to say "care, bitch, or we'll destroy you".  And for good measure we ravage her with asphalt and chain her with concrete.  Only inaccessible places, reserved by visionaries from a long gone era offer us a glimpse of Grace, or be forever blind.

I stole away for a private viewing of the valley below.  Working my way along the river shoreline, avoiding its treacherous current, getting as close as I dared to the precipice, that sweet spot where water goes from horizontal to vertical.

Now dangerously close to the edge, I made my way to see the river do it's thing, like a depraved voyeur on the sidelines.  Too fearful (yes I was afraid of the overwhelming power of gravity at this point) of getting involved and being irresistibly dragged down this vertiginous fall into a bone crashing, blood splashing collision with the immovable land mass below.

My head was spinning and my psyche reeling, threatening, awakening my dormant survival instinct.   It was worth it.  Grabbing for dear life, adrenaline pumping, I experienced a sort of catharsis; an epiphany.  It was bliss gazing into the abyss.

I looked out into the alluring emerald void, the pastoral happy valley with the roaring waterfall soundtrack, a bird-less blue Imax sky and slow-motion time lapsed into a complete stop. I was alone with that Spirit some call God, and it was good.