Into the Rockies from west of Fort Collins down to above Golden.

Sunday & Monday, July 2-3, 2017; Along the Front Range.

The next day I arose with the Sun (luckily the valley I was camped in ran east-west), and moved down back down the forest road to where I should have camped, had I spotted it last evening.  Here in a little pull out by the creek, I had breakfast and plotted my day.  I would head south on County Hwy 27 once I reached that road at Stove Prairie, from the Old Flowers Road I had camped on, meet up with US Hwy 34, and head west to Estes Park, the eastern gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park, and from there continue my southward trend on State Hwy7. Somewhere off Hwy 7 I would find an early campsite for the night.

Where I should have camped; I breakfasted here.

The resident Squirrel.

Old Cabin on the Old Flowers Road …
it appears to be still in use as the porch light is on.

US Hwy 34 runs in Big Thompson Canyon through the Front Range to Estes Park.  I went through this Canyon the opposite direction, when I was 15, with my family.  I remember plotting to build something like that, for my model railroad in those days, but never managed it.  I lunched at Sleepy Hollow picnic area in the canyon.

This is the Big Thompson River
at the Sleepy Hollow picnic area.

After lunch a few miles further and I reached Estes Park, and immediately joined in a traffic jam … I mean if everyone is doing it, who am I to be the odd one out?!  This put paid to my tentative thought of continuing west into Rocky Mountain National Park itself.  One thing though … the view west over Estes Park, as you crest the pass upon leaving Big Thompson Canyon and begin to drop down into the town, is stupendous, with a cirque of mountains overlooking this mountain town.  This view we never noticed as a family since we were heading east, and if any of us saw it that would have been our Dad, but in the rear view mirror.  I, however, was travelling the opposite direction this time, and so saw what we missed way back when.  It would be a town in which to consider living, just for the view, save for the hordes of visitors in Summer, and I expect they get a few in Winter too.  In any event the traffic jam put paid to any photos I might have taken.  Finally I connected with State Hwy 7 and headed south, with much much less traffic.

Longs Peak is within Rocky Mountain National Park.

Just a few miles down Hwy 7, at Meeker Park, I turned left onto Old Cabin Creek Road, and followed it into the Arapaho-Roosevelt National Forest and set up an early camp.  Here there were flowers … and the odd mosquito.

Sorry about the flowers ...
I take their photos in hope that I will find out
what they are at some point in the future.

Two neighboring campsites several sites away were occupied that night and were empty early in the morning, and as I had some paperwork to do I didn’t leave until mid-afternoon.  New neighbors appeared in late morning, a Mexican family grouping who took up residence over three sites.  Once their three ATVs were off exploring the forest roads, the remaining residents were generally quiet, lazing about and quietly conversing, preparing their picnic, except for the small dog that would periodically notice I was down the road, and come yap at me … not really a problem.  When I was ready to leave I bid them good day and headed out.  Within two hundred yards I had to stop and take this photograph.

I believe this is Mt. Meeker,
part of the Longs Peak Massif shown earlier.

Stopping in Allenspark, just three miles down Hwy 7, to post my paperwork, I discovered a village spring and filled my empty water bottles.  A few miles along Hwy 7 veered eats and I turned south onto State Hwy 72, to continue my southward journey.  About a mile along I stopped for photos of the valley, back towards the north; I believe this is the Middle St. Vrain Valley.  The rock with the natural Bonsai on top is at the pullout, and the photo up the valley was taken just beyond it.

Middle St. Vrain Valley, I believe.

Natural Bonsai.

Somewhere, perhaps ten miles further south, past the town of Ward I believe, there is a pullout and the view opens up; I think Glacier Lake is nearby to the east, but out of sight.  A shower of rain passed over while I was drinking in the view, although cannot tell that from this photo.

Shortly before Nederland, there is Mud Lake Open Space and Caribou Ranch Open Space.  The latter has the longer walks and so saved for another time, but part of Mud Lake was do-able, with the time I had available.

Mud Lake Open Space.

Many more flower photos were taken here,
but they were in the deep shade,
so may only be useful as reference photos.

Forty five minutes after leaving Mud Lake Open Space, ten miles into the mountains above Golden, Colorado, I pulled into the driveway of an old friend of mine, Martin, who I met on the Mallaig ferry to the Isle of Skye, Scotland, all those years ago at the end of my first Summer in Britain.  He is British, but has been in the USA longer than I lived in England … and that was a very long time indeed.  So for the month of July I have bounced between house sitting for Martin, while he was on a very full visit to Britain, and visiting my friends Dan & Lee in Salida.

Note: You will have noticed I have changed the font for my postings, since there has been some bitching and moaning concerning difficulty in reading fonts with serifs on a screen. ;D

On the Pawnee National Grasslands

Saturday, July 1, 2017; from the Pawnee National Grassland to the Rockies.

As I bedded down for the night overlooking the Pawnee Buttes, I assumed, the industrial nature of the eastern section of the Pawnee National Grasslands, was readily apparent, with all the lights from the various oil facilities, stretching away to the east and the warning red lights atop the wind farm turbines lurking on the far ridges to the north.  In the morning, however, it was difficult to pick out the oil facilities in the morning haze; difficult but not too difficult … they were still there.  The wind turbines were more noticeable, being silhouetted against the sky, but not as large as apparent as they had seemed in the dark.  Breakfast was eaten down the hill at the trailhead for Pawnee Buttes.  A few photos were taken and then I headed for the Western section of the Grasslands, as I wished to get a feel for what these prairies were like in the days of old, just as I had during my journey through the Nebraskan Sand Hills.

Pawnee Buttes from my Campsite …

… and from down near the trailhead .

…and where I breakfasted.

Some sort of flower, lurking in the grass.

And a closeup.

As I topped the ridge above Pawnee Buttes, I ascertained that the low clouds on the western horizons were, in fact, the distant Rockies, almost lost as their colour was only a tad darker than the sky itself, and their snow patches were just a might lighter.  The drive took me through the town of Grover, beyond which was the western section of the Pawnee National Grasslands.  About 35 or 40 miles west of Pawnee Buttes, and a few miles from the western edge of the Grasslands themselves, I paused for lunch and an afternoon of bird identification, and just soaking up the quiet of the prairie.

Wildhorse Tit, in the western section of the Grasslands ...

… and the track where I had lunch.

White Prickly Poppy_Argemone polyanthemos;

these were the same poppies I had not yet identified
at the Dismal River in the Nebraskan Sand Hills.

My first Prickly Pears set up in ambush
for unsuspecting passers-by.

Lark Buntings … I saw many of these on my drive through the Grasslands, startled into flight by approach.

Horned Larks were the other birds flying up as I drove the Grassland roads.  It took me a longtime to make this identification as their little feathered ‘horns’ are not always so obvious as they are in this photo t0 the right.

Chestnut Collared Longspur… not as many as the first two birds.

Meadowlark; they came and went and were the least in number watering here.

I considered remaining here for the night, but the smudge of distant mountains beckoned, and so I headed west.  I resupplied with ice and petrol on the very north edge of Fort Collins, and then proceeded into the mountains west and a little north from there.  I might have been better to have remained on the prairie, as it was the fourth of July weekend, and many seemed to have flocked to the mountains, even on the desperate mountain track I had chosen.  I prepared supper as the night closed in, smelling the wood smoke from the next campers a few hundred yards away.  There was not a congestion of folk near at hand, but all the convenient clearings were occupied, so I took what was available.

And the mountains beckoned.

Crossing Nebraska

Friday, June 30, 2017; from Valentine, Nebraska to Pawnee Buttes, Colorado.

In the morning I headed south on Hwy 97, and breakfasted a few miles down the road next to a small water called Alkali Lake  (I found out later).  Here showers came and went and observed the local birdlife while eating.  Here there were White Pelicans; a first for me.  We are now in the Sand Hills of northwestern Nebraska, and in this part of the Sand Hills every low spot between the rounded hills there are ponds, small lakes or marshes, and while not conducive to crops, it is perfect for grazing.  Continuing on through intermittent showers, this Sand Hills topography remained similar until, Mullen, forty miles or so further south, after which the Hills were drier.  In Mullen I crossed the railroad tracks just in time to miss being halted by an extremely long coal train, probably from Wyoming.

Alkali Lake … breakfasted here.

White Pelicans at Alkali Lake.

In the Sand Hills.

Four or five miles south of Mullen, I turned right onto the Dismal River Road, which turned out to be a single track road, for the next forty miles, ten miles of which were dirt.  I loved every minute of it, enjoying the solitude (I met only two vehicles, one at the beginning and the other just before the end), and seeing a few herds of cattle, and the odd pronghorn antelope along the way.  Turning West at the end of the Dismal River Road onto State Hwy 92, I immediately passed a picturesque lake (Schick Lake, I later discovered), and stopped for a few photos.

The Dismal River … not so dismal today. 

Cattle herd in the Dismal River Valley.
The 10 mile dirt road section began at th Dismal River.

Some sort of White Poppy, I’ve been told. 
I hope to ID my flower photos at some future date,
when I get access to a reference source.

Wild Rose.

40 Miles of single track road.

Where I’ve been.

Where I’m going.

A few miles farther on was a grove of Cottonwoods and Junipers with a pull-off and a picnic table and a small regular shape lurking amongst the trees, looking suspiciously like a loo.  And it was(!); a one-holer of the old school … not many of these about these days … especially in a public situation.   I availed myself of the facility, bringing my own TP with me, so as not to use the little that was supplied, and arming myself with a stick to beat off errant spiders, insects or larger varmints, that might feel an urge to rush me through the various cracks and holes in this venerable establishment.  It was not as unpleasant as it might have been, since odors were almost non-existent … I suspect it is rarely used, not just because of the loneliness of this highway, but also because of the ancientness of the structure.  Dodgy sheds over a hole in the ground are not easily found anymore.  There must be many a folk who have never seen, much less used such a treasure, but I for one am thankful that it was there.  Looking back on it, I must say I was remiss for not taking the odd photo of it. 

Schick Lake at the end of the Dismal River Road, on Hwy 92.

Outside of Lewellen, off of US Hwy 26, I attempted to find the Bluewater Battlefield (also known as the Battle of Ash Hollow), marked on my map.  I knew nothing about it, and in the end one could not actually get to it, but it was probably along the creek in the distance in the photo.  I later found out about it later.  In a nutshell, it was a punitive expedition in 1855, for the Grattan Massacre of the year before, when inexperienced Lt. John Lawrence Grattan and 29 troopers were killed by the Lakota, when the soldiers attempted to arrest one of the Indians responsible for killing a cow belonging to a Mormon emigrant heading for Salt Lake.  The Bluewater fight took place here when Brigadier General William S. Harney and 600 men attacked a village of 250 Lakota, killing 86 people and capturing 70 women and children.  Not the Army’s finest hour; but sadly, an all too frequent occurrence, in those days.  Those interested may read more about it here.         

Blue Creek … I believe the site of the battle was
beneath the buttes in the distance.

From here I joined the Oregon Trail and came upon Chimney Rock about 60 miles on.  This was a famous landmark for those pioneer emigrants heading west on their way to Oregon, or California.  I was interested in seeing it as Albert Bierstadt painted it more than once.  More about the rock may be found here.  My first sagebrush were spotted on my approach to Chimney Rock … another sign I’m back in the West.

Chimney Rock, Nebraska.

Petrol and some few other supplies were onloaded at Scottsbluff a few miles further west, and then turning directly south my road led to the Pawnee National Grasslands.  Just over the State line into Colorado.  The Pawnee National Grasslands is divided into an eastern and western sections, but this belies the fact that only 30% or so of the actual Grasslands are Federal property; thus for every acre of the National Grasslands two are held in private hands.  Also the eastern section has a lot of oil or gas wells and wind-farms ensconced on the land.  But the most interesting geography is to be found here, in the form of Pawnee Buttes, and so that is where I headed, with the Sun setting into the west, as I entered this industrial eastern section.  In the darkening of the night I made several abortive attempts to reach the Buttes, before I found the right road.  At quarter of eleven I pulled into a dispersed camping site overlooking the trail to the Buttes, passing two other campers back down the road, and turned in for the night.

The crossing of the Great Plains was a surprisingly interesting journey on the back roads of Nebraska, and only 60 0r 70 miles to go, before I reach the Colorado Rockies.  I highly recommend the Outlaw Trail (Nebraska State Highway 12), and the Dismal River Road as well, to gradually ease oneself into the West, from the agrarian eastern part of the Great Plains.