A Modern Mountain Man
The Heartiness of Men Exploring Estes Park
There are many mountain lovers with amazing skills far beyond my capabilities. I was out earlier in February to see several people camping when the temperature that day ranged from below zero to a high of eight degrees. No thank you. Even the warmest sleeping bag wouldn’t convince me to be an Arctic camper.
I think back into history, and I wonder about the heartiness of men exploring Estes Park. Think about John Wesley Powell and his team of seven on the first recorded summit of Longs Peak in 1868. No technical equipment, no defined route, and no awareness of the potential dangers over the next false summit. These were true adventurers bushwacking up a 14,000 foot mountain.
There was a time in my younger life when such adventures drew me in, but now…let’s just say the legs aren’t as youthful as they once were, the balance not quite as steady. But there’s still one winter adventure that gives me a thrill.
When the fresh snow of an early winter morning leaves the park roads covered with six to eight inches, I am excited. I want to be the first vehicle in the park, the daring driver who breaks through the unplowed snow with his powerful vehicle.
Heading out, I load up all of my survival supplies…a Diet Coke in a Yeti Rambler cooled by ice from my refrigerator’s ice dispenser, and I stop at the Donut Haus for the nourishment of a raspberry glazed twist donut.
I enjoy modern day warmth. I’m wearing Timberland hiking boots from REI, a fleece Columbia pullover from Scheels, and a thick, wonderful stocking hat given to me by my Estes Park New friends. My iPhone is bluetooth connected to my Ford Explorer GPS, and I’m listening to Phlash Phelps on Sirius satellite radio playing my favorite 1960s songs. As I drive, I sing along with the Grass Roots, Buckinghams, and the Hollies before Graham Nash left to form a little harmonizing group called Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.
Yes, like Enos Mills before me, I’m ready for a daring outdoor winter adventure, but I’m in my twenty-first century four-wheel drive Explorer with heated seats and steering wheel. As I approach the park entrance, my lifetime senior pass in hand, I watch the road. My great adventuring spirit hopes there are no vehicle tracks before me. Like Joel Estes, Isabella Bird, and Abner Sprague navigating on horseback into uncharted territory, I want to be the first to break through the snow. Daringly, I push forward in my Ford Explorer with a standard 2.3L EcoBoost I4 producing 300 horsepower and 310 pound-feet of torque. 300 horsepower is better than one horse and a couple of pack mules.
It is a virgin snow with no tracks before me.
It is a virgin snow with no tracks before me. At Horseshoe Park, there is a group of nice bull elk, their antlers still fully intact despite an active rut. I step from the Explorer, standing in the eight inches of snow with my mirrorless, computerized Canon camera photographing the beautiful animals. No one else is around with only the two narrow paths of my Bridgestone tires disrupting the perfectly smooth layer of white.
At Deer Junction, I head back down Highway 36 hoping to capture mule deer bucks. They are just beginning to shed their antlers, and I hope to photograph some whose racks remain in place. On the hillside, there is a group of does, their noses buried in the snow searching for food. Then, just past them, two bold and beautiful bucks stand side-by-side.
There was no pullout and no other cars. What could go wrong if I stopped on the road to capture an image. Well…there are those things called snow plows that come down the mountain at a fairly good pace. What could go wrong? Sitting in my white Explorer, I could be plowed and pushed down the mountain rolling uncontrolled like a highly technical snowball with 300 horsepower.
As I continue on, I stop at the large pullout that overlooks Longs Peak and the snow covered continental divide. It happens to me now and then as it must have happened to early explorers. I step outside of my vehicle to look at the incredible view. As I stand in the snow, a rush of awe sends a tingle through my body. I am overwhelmed at the beauty before me, and thankful that my life is now lived surrounded by magnificent mountains.
Slipping back into the driver’s seat, I glance in the rearview mirror. No snow plow yet, but I’ve got to get moving down the mountain to stay on an undisturbed, snow-covered road. As I drive, the snow blasts from under the wheels, and I am the adventurer seeking winter images.
I laugh thinking of those who came one-hundred and fifty years before. Would they have envied my transportation and recognized the weaknesses of a man softened by modern conveniences, clothing, and technology. Or would they acknowledge my love for RMNP as they loved the area long before me.
Would they have appreciated that I am a mountain man mastering unplowed roads while on a great winter adventure.
