Rocky Mountain High

7/11/2015


Rocky Mountain High


We are making our way up the ridgeline..... heading toward the grassy saddle between two peaks.  It is later than usual.  In fact,  it is later in the day than I have hiked previously,  on this trip to Colorado and the Colorado Trail.  Yet there is no sign of rain....no storms coming.  It will be a clear, starry, night in the mountains.
Today has been warm, hot almost..... like all but two days have been so far, in the first three weeks of this hike.  But, as I said, it is getting late....though the sun's rays still light up the valley, as we continue our climb up to the saddle.

 A slight cooling breeze, just a puff of the cooling evening air, rises up out of the valley, and russles the thin stalks of a multitude of wildflowers,  that splash color to both sides of the trail.  Delicate little blooms of amazing richness and texture, still reaching upward for the those ebbing rays of sun.

Flowers....colors.... blend with the sandy soil and the rocks.  There are yellows, whites, oranges; the pinks of wild roses, every immaginable hue of purple and violet; the lavender of Columbine, and intense blue.  It is the blues.....blue blossoms,  that stand out most dramatically for me....tiny blossoms, the bluest of blue....blue bunches of Forget Me Nots.  The higher we climb,  the more blue mats of Forget Me Nots, we pass.  These are not giant blossoms, bending giant stalks, with their weight..... not garden monstrosities engineered by men in a hapless attempt to improve perfection.  No.   These alpine delicacies were forged by nature... not over generations..... but over eons. 

We climb higher still, and I am surprised by how good I feel.  Nothing hurts.  It is late in the day, and yet my knees are happy.......... my legs strong.  I am not even sweating, not even breathing hard,  as we travel up the narrow trail..... first coursing through stands of Aspen, their leaves fluttering in that mildest of breezes; and then higher, past pine and and spruce stands, seated precariously on those gravely slopes.   Evergreens so ancient and tall, that it hurts my neck,  and causes me to lose my balance,  as my eyes try to follow their path toward the sky.  They are giants,  yet mere specks, as are we on the face of this mountain....this hunk of rock.... that we effortlessly climb.  
My legs feel strong, the weight of my pack almost imperceptable.....strong legs and a feather light pack.....and late in the day.  
It is a bit odd, odd to feel so good climbing up to this saddle, so late in the day.  I turn and look back across the valley,  and see that we are surrounded by more mountains, and open spaces.

There are four of us smoothly floating our way up the mountain.  The two women, just ahead of me,  are both wearing hiking shorts..........  and they are both very fit.  They certainly have the legs on them...both of them.....serious hiker's legs.... or maybe they are mountain bikers..... and hikers too.  I have met some amazing athletes on this trip.... hikers, bikers, trail runners.  I do not recognize either of these women.  I am hiking with two very fit 60 year olds....two leggy, old babes, that I don't think, I know.  They may be younger than that even....maybe only 55 years old .....and leggy.   But I am not admitting to that.  I will just tell you that they are amazingly fit,  and firm,  60 something..... hikers.  I do a quick check of my pits.  This is amazing!  I have been wearing these clothes for four days....four days up and down these mountains.....and I don't even smell bad.  Oh this is good.  This is really good! 

The first member of our party, the guy up front, who is leading us up the mountain,  has not said a word as yet.  Well, neither has any of us said anything.  He justs stops periodically,  as we gain a brief flatter stretch of trail....looks back at the three of us, and smiles.  It is not that he smiles,  I realize....it is that he is constantly smiling.  Okay.  It is bigger than a smile, more of a continous ongoing, "Cheshire Cat" like, grin.  This guy is a constant, silent, beaming, grin!  In fact, we are all smiling.  We can't resist it.  We are all happy....happy....... and grinning..... and floating effortlessly up the mountain..... as the sun's glow slowly fades,  and the color of the trailside blossoms fades too.  

For some reason.... I am unconcerned;  even,  about where we are going.  I just want to know who these great-legged, old babes are?  And which of the two..... am I with?

The hiker up front,  our leader,  has a guitar strapped to his backpack.  I have seen that before, on the Appalachian Trail.  "Coolie Mc JetPack",  a young friend of mine,  had added his guitar to his hiking gear,  when he walked the AT through New York State.....and still carried it when we hiked together, for awhile, in Maine.  I remember that he played it for us,  at "The Cabin" Hostel. 

Still there is something odd.....yes, odd,  about this grinning guitar toting hiker leading our group.  He seems familiar. Yes.  I  recognize those goofy glasses.  And I am sure, I  know that grin.  
If I can just figure out which of these women with the incredible legs, is the one that I am with.....well, then I am sure that I can concentrate on, and place those goofy glasses, those kind,  happy eyes.....and that "Cheshire" smile.  I know this guy!  I know that smile! 

We have topped the saddle and make our way into the grassy meadow as darkness is settling onto the mountain.  We approach the campfire, and all is good.  All is really, really, good. 

No, I don't know who made the fire...... nor where they have gone.  Just go with it.  

What I do know, is that John has unstrapped his guitar, and is going to play his song for us.......... just the four of us,  on this most beautiful, summer night, in the mountains.
  

And I know that we are all happy.... very, very,  happy, as John begins to sing for us,  just for us......  as John always does.
  
"He was born in the summer of his twenty-seventh year,  
coming home to a place he'd never been before.....
Colorado Rocky Mountain  High....I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky, 
you talk to God........ listen to the casual reply, 
Rocky Mountain High.....Rocky Mountain High......"

 I have heard John sing his song before, many times before tonight, but never..... before this moment, fully felt the depth of meaning that his words had for him.  
These are words from his soul. 
It was just a song for me until this moment.  Now I understand.  I know the depth of feeling that John has for this land...... for these magnificent mountains.  I hear it.  I feel it,  in his guitar....in his words.... in his voice.

In time,  the voice of John Denver is trailing off.......... because my dream is ending.   
As I wake, in my tent, to this new dawn, to new wonder ,  in this cool morning stillness.... I realize that I am still humming the tune of "Rocky Mountain High".   I think about John Denver,  and these Rocky Mountains.

 I love this place too.... as you do John.  I love these mountains.  "Hawkeye".