Cabin Journal: Another Boring Day in Paradise

A popular bumper sticker in the tourist town of Estes Park sports the saying, “Another Ho-Hum Day in Paradise.” Some tourists are confused by it, but for those of us who live here, it’s a reminder that a ho-hum day in the mountains is better than a fantastic day almost anywhere else. Even on a gray day when the wind is whipping the pine trees back and forth, you only need to look up and west to see the cirque of high peaks covered in snow, and there’s paradise right in front of you.

When I arrived last week at the cabin, it seemed about as ho-hum day as you could get. The skies were hazy, and melting snow revealed brown ground, seemingly flattened of all life. It was a far cry from the fields starting to green up on the plains.

I headed to Wild Basin, several hundred feet higher than Meeker Park, where the snow was still deep and covered the road that serves as a trail in winter. The landscape was etched in black and white, stark and beautiful in its own way. The dark trunks of the conifers appeared to be growing out of the snow, while in the distance the granite mass of Mount Copeland was engraved in white. Along the creek (above and left), the pale bark of aspen trees contrasted with gray granite boulders. On the St. Vrain river, enough snow had melted in the past week for the creek to break through the chunks of ice, forming ink-dark pools and narrow slits of running water—the creek just starting to edge toward spring rambunctiousness.

Above me, the sky’s mood shifted between sunlight and snowstorms. If I looked up at the top of the cliffs, I could see a blur of white, then watch it sink lower into this valley. Suddenly I was surrounded by big ornate flakes, so thick I couldn’t see the tops of the cliffs. And then the skies would lift again, and some light would be let through, making more shadows in the dark woods.