I wasn’t born in a small town...

Well I was born in a small town

And I live in a small town

Probably die in a small town

Oh, those small communities

Small Town 

Lyrics by John Cougar Mellencamp 

Unlike John Cougar M, I never lived in a small town, until now in Durango, CO. (Population 19,000). 

In 1978, I chose to take the purported advice of Horace Greeley to “Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country.” I left the chaos of New York City behind along with its 7.8 million inhabitants. Let it be known I never agonized over my life changing decision to leave the “Big Apple.” 

I moved to Fort Collins, CO where the population was about 62,000. At the time, it felt sort of puny. I remember all the hubbub when it’s first Target store opened on the outskirts of South College Avenue. The common comments one heard was “who’s going to go all that way to shop?” Now it’s location is considered less than midtown. When I moved away in 2009, Fort Collins’ population had grown to 141,000.

Next stop was Tucson, AZ with its 525,000 inhabitants. My furniture were barely in my rental’s door when I knew it wasn’t a right fit. I felt like a small Gefilte Fish in a big pond. On top of that Tucson was far from thriving. The “Old Pueblo” felt... well old, worn and in dire need of a makeover. The streets were rutted, litter was as prevalent as cactus and petty theft seemed to be the rule of the land. I made very few human connections there. (You know who you are.)

Alas, due to a lower than average cost of living and a recession fueled degradation of my 401 pension, I was economically stuck there for four winters of discontent. 

Then in July 2011, the “Poop Happens” dart of fate intervened. Harshly. I was rear ended on my bicycle by a sedan. I woke up in a ditch. I broke eleven vertebrae and sternum. My face was made messier than usual. It took me a year to heal.

Eventually I received a monetary settlement. Financial Freedom. I wouldn’t advise this as a way to bolster your retirement savings. I sold, tossed or donated all my worldly possessions in my final winter of discontent in Tucson AZ. In April 2013, I became “Homeless by Choice.” 

Leaving Tucson wasn’t a decision I agonized over either.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/06/i-never-thought-of-myself-as-a.html

For over six years, I traveled. By the spring of 2018, the rootless lifestyle had lost its new Barley the CamperVan feeling. 

I wisely chose Durango, CO to settle in. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/08/in-america-if-you-dont-have-address.html

I moved to this regional center of Southwest Colorado primarily for its location to so many square miles of Wild and Scenic places. (All these pretty photos except a few were taken within a few hours drive from my home). The city might be small but the views and surrounding landscapes are BIGLY. 

But there's another thing that’s HUGE about my new hometown. Durango is a petite city where people have San Juan Mountains sized passions. Since moving here, I’ve had the pleasure of attending two meetings of Durango Green Drinks. What’s that you might ask?

Straight from the website: Durango Green Drinks, a fun, informal monthly gathering organized by the Sustainability Alliance of SW Colorado. A fantastic group of sustainability-minded local non-profits sponsor the event and rotate hosting responsibilities. October is being hosted by our friends and partners at Mountain Studies Institute and The Wilderness Society. It is a fun and relaxed opportunity to connect, chat, network, and be inspired. Brief announcements are followed by short presentations by host organizations, which rotates monthly. There is plenty of time to network and catch up with friends. Green Drinks is non-partisan.

After a lively Happy Hour, a handful of people got up on soapboxes and spoke about their passions/causes. Here’s a few examples:

An earnest young Mother was seeking signatures to present to the Durango city council. She wanted to place distance restrictions on how close microwave towers can be to a residence. “My children got sick when a cellphone tower was placed near our home. We moved. Now they want to put another tower near my new home. I don’t want my kids to get sick again.” Whom was I to doubt her? I signed her petition.

An older gentleman was asking for people to participate in a silent protest to raise local awareness of the “Climate Crisis.” 

A member of “Conservation Colorado” spoke at length about environmentally friendly politicians running for office. He held the crowds attention. 

A member of the “Great Old Broads for Wilderness” talked about the non-profit’s advocacy program pertaining to wilderness preservation issues. She went on to state the GOBOW aren’t all talk. They sponsor hands-on mitigation projects as well. I’m a dues paying member of this organization.  I attended a fen restoration project. They call me a “Great Old Bro for Wilderness.”

Throughout all these presentations, I sipped my “Yankee Boy Basin” IPA and grinned. I too, have my passions. I burn at a higher than 98.6 body temperature when it comes to these environmental/wild lands sensitive issues. I might have found “my people.” They were speaking my language. 

I’m feeling at home here. 

Just wish Durango had a Target Store.

Cheers from the prettiest part of Colorado,

Jeff

PS. The bartenders in the brewpubs know me by name. They pour me an IPA without me asking. Not sure if this is a good thing!

I mentally prepared myself for...

The worst for my gig as an Ice Lake Trail Educational Ranger. My  assignment would be talking up “Leave No Trace” Conservation Ethics to hordes of hikers. 

FYI. Ice Lake is the most popular and populated trail in the entire San Juan National Forest. 

A few days prior to me “going live” I attended a San Juan Mountain Association volunteer meeting. (I’m a dues paying member of this feel good non-profit organization.) The informercial took place at Happy Hour in the SJMA parking lot. All attendees were masked up and socially distanced. Naturally, I brought a six-pack of IPAs to share with my fellow stewards of the land.  

The cooler was socially distanced too.

I had one taker. Tough crowd. 

Three SJMA staff members gave three distinct point of views on crowd control on our public lands. The one factoid I gleaned was this. Ice Lake was scoring 500-800 visitors/day on a sub-8 mile (round trip), 2400’ elevation gain (one way) trail. That’s a lot of Facebook selfies. Of course the gorilla in the corner was Covid and political divisiveness. I walked away with more questions and concerns than answers. However after 28 years of being in emergency services, I know there are times you have to shrug your shoulders and wing it. 

I arrived around 7:30ish to a nearly full parking lot. In the time it took me to fuss with my backpack and gear, the parking lot was in overflow status. I donned my green SJMA baseball cap and a gray US Forest Service volunteer t-shirt. It wasn’t a uniform that screamed, “You will respect my authority!” (Quote from Cartman of “South Park” fame.)

I headed up the trail. The sky was shockingly blue. The temperature was hovering in the perfect zone.

Armed with my avid imagination, I figured the trail would look like Mile High Stadium after a Broncos overtime win. I noticed a few discarded doggy poop bags and one crumpled can. I’ve seen worse. Most of the hikers I passed had “game on” for Colorado’s fickle mountain weather. (Bulging backpacks with water, food, rain gear and dry, warm clothes.) The early hikers are usually “in the know.” This wasn’t their first rodeo. 

Generally speaking, it’s the late starters, who are ill prepared on what might lie ahead. The give away is their I Phone in hand. I suppose they have an “app” for food, water, shelter and warm, dry clothes. 

My hike up was uneventful. Mostly I was saying a masked “Good Morning!” Every now and then, I’d perform a welfare check on folks. Fortunately, all seemed conscious, oriented and alert. At Ice Lake, (elevation 12,260’) the crowd was subdued. It was as if they had arrived within a Cathedral. (Which in fact they did, just one without walls or religious guilt.) I took my lunch in an out of the way place. Afterwards, I turned downhill. 

The uphill crowd was thicker than hours ago. Many were hiking with their four-legged friends. About 50% had their hound tethered to them. I sincerely thanked them for this curtesy. Other pooches walked in lockstep with their owners. I thanked those dog lovers for training such a well behaved canine. Then their were the troublemakers. The Bowsers who were ranging far and wide from their owners. They were looking for mischief. To these owners, I’d say, “Excuse me. I’m Jeff, I’m a volunteer for the Forest Service and a local mountain loving conservation organization. I believe your dog might be harassing the wildlife.”

Most were cool, and immediately leashed their wandering dogs. One woman asked me so innocently, “There’s wildlife here? What kind?” 

Outstanding! I had an audience.I ascended my invisible podium. “Well, there’s ground squirrels, chipmunks, deer, marmots, lots of birds and my favorite-the American Pika.” (I was working the patriotic angle here.) Next she asked, “What’s an American Pika?” I began to warm up to my roll, “American Pikas are arguably one of the most adorable mammals in our Great Nation. They are the size of your fist, tawny gray in color, with little round ears and no tail. They live above tree line where you are heading. They are hard working vegetarian farmers. True salt of the Earth animals. This is their time to “make hay while the sunshine’s” They’ll feed on their harvest throughout the winter months. If your dog chases them, that’s less time for them do their chores. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for a winter starved mild mannered rodent. Would you?” 

She called her dog and leashed him. “Sorry! I wasn’t aware. I totally understand. Thanks for the explanation.” I was smiling behind my mask. “Score!”

I went back up to Ice Lake the following day. I disassembled a few fire rings (blazes are verboten in the Ice Lake corridor) and picked up some detritus. I did some bonus elevation and miles to nearby Island Lake. I made more contacts with my emphasis on making recommendations to the bevy of backpackers. I kindly asked them to make camp in the lower basin among the trees. I explained it this way. “The above tree line tundra is deceptively fragile. Camping upon it, might cause resource damage. Besides, we’ve been getting afternoon thunderstorms. Your shelter has lightning rod aluminum poles! One more thing to consider, your tent might photo bomb someone’s Facebook selfie.”  That last point got their attention. Many nodded in agreement.

Score II.

All in all, I felt the experience was a positive one for me and hopefully for some visitors. I was thanked more than once for being “out here.”

Alas, in our time of Covid, I’m hesitant to partake in this gig again. Many guests come from the Virus “hot spot“ states of New Mexico, Arizona and Texas. At times the trail is quite narrow with  no place to get aside in an appropriate socially distanced  manner. Masks like mine were the exception instead of the rule. At my age of 65, the cost/risk benefit is too high. 

With Merica’s body count soaring, I’m more than concerned. I don’t want to contract Covid. It would put a major damper on my hiking and Happy Hours. I’ll surely volunteer again in the post-Covid effective vaccine future. (Whenever that may be).

Last photo: If people overcrowding weren’t enough, there’s llama jams on the Ice Lake Trail too.

Stay safe, sort of sane and healthy,

Jeff 

“Jeffy! Would it be OK...

If the kids visiting you for two weeks this summer?”  was the question Robin (my sister-in-law) posed to me in the spring of 2004. 

It didn’t take long for me to answer, “Sure!” 

Before I signed the papers, there were certain conditions which had to be met. “Jeff, promise me you will bring them back alive and you won’t lose them again. (Picky. Picky. Picky. I only misplaced them once!) “OK” I lamely answered, “I promise.” Robin had one more condition, “The kids are sort of chubby. Can you work them enough so they shed a few pounds?” It didn’t take me long to answer, “That!  I can do!”

My nephews Keith and Justin arrived in Colorado from NYC around mid-summer. After picking them up at Denver’s airport, I laid out the game plan. “Guys! We’re going to do a two week lap of the best parts of Colorado. We’ll either be backpacking or day hiking. There will be no days off. We will have fun. Am I crystal clear on this?” 

The Boys knew the drill from their previous trips to Colorado. Get up early, backpack or day hike, move to another venue, eat, drink, sleep, repeat. All was going well. It was the the usual, me verbally abusing the kids and they tag teaming back at UJ. (Uncle Jeff). Most of the time, I’d cut them off with, “Next! On Oprah. Mean Uncles!” 

The one incident I remember was in the Uncompahgre Wilderness. We were sporting full backpacks for a three night trip. The summer monsoons of thunder, lightning and rain Oh My! was our weather pattern. I was on top of an above the tree line pass looking down at two specs of humans way below me. The clouds above were coalescing into something scary and nasty. I had to motivate the youngsters. “Boys! Would you rather be shopping? I’m sure we can find a nice mall nearby. It’ll be easier on you than backpacking.” Their answer was an emphatic duet of “ F—k You! Uncle Jeff!” I laughed but my lines did the trick. They hustled up and we retreated to less exposed areas. 

All memorable journeys must come to an end. After finishing the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness Four Pass Loop. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-future-aint-what.html

We headed into Aspen right in time for brunch. I ordered a breakfast burrito and coffee. The Boys asked for burgers and fries. Keith spoke out, “UJ? Would it be OK if me and Justin have a beer?” (It was 11ish am). “Sure! Why not? You guys deserve it. I know you worked hard these past two weeks. You both did great.” 

When the beers arrived, they toasted each other. What did my nephews say when they clinked bottles? “We survived Uncle Jeff! We survived Uncle Jeff!”

The next day I dropped them off at Denver’s airport. 

About half a dozen hours later (I missed those kids already) my phone rang. It was Robin. “Jeff!” Oh oh, I’m in trouble now was my first thought. “Yes?” Robin practically shouted, “The Kids look great! They each lost ten pounds. They look so healthy. They had a great time too. Thanks so much!” My answer was short and sincere, “My pleasure.”

Sixteen years later, those Boys are now Men. They followed the American Dream by getting married, having kids and buying a home. In other words, they did everything I never did. Keith and Justin grew up! 

A few days ago, the stars and planets aligned. Their wives and parents (Brother Mike and Robin) granted them a few hours off to hike with their Uncle Jeff. By 7:30 am we headed up above tree line. Keith hung with me stride for stride. (Am I getting older and slower or is Keith getting fitter and faster?). Justin wore a satisfying smirk as he brought up the rear. Neither had any complaints as we gazed at 100 mile views, puffy clouds and stunning wildflowers. Six miles in we took a lunch stop near a babbling waterfall. We reminisced about our past trips together. “Remember the time...” We got back to my truck just as the clouds began to yield rain. It was perfect timing to complete a perfect day.

Now you might wonder, “Where do Keith and Justin live?” My nephews reside on the Front Range of Colorado.

 Coincidence? I think not. They saw the light years ago.

Thanks Brother Mike and Robin for giving me the best nephews in the world.

Stay safe, sane and healthy out there,

UJ