The Covid Summer of Not…

Quite Right.

When the  trifectas of Covid vaccines were made available in early 2020,  I White Man jumped to score mine. I received the two Moderna fixes in Cortez, CO. I gladly made the 100 mile RT drive to get jabbed. Hell, at that point I would’ve driven to eastern Kansas. I wanted out of Covid isolation. I desired a return to my old self. Being a Sociable Hermit instead of a 24/7 Covid Hermit.

I then sat back with a satisfied and protected grin waiting for my fellow Americans to climb on board the Vaccination Train. Well, that didn’t happen. As of this posting merely 55% of Americans are fully vaccinated. (Source CDC.) The US recently surpassed the 700,000 deaths due to Covid benchmark. This is not something to be proud of. 

Of course I had an opinion about this: 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/05/a-country-of-contrarians.html

As summer approached, I started out with high expectations of an increase in human contact. (After the shutdown of 2020,  that bar was set extremely low.) I made phone calls, sent texts and emails to acquaintances, possible dates and volunteer organizations as a form of reaching out. The reply rate was seriously underwhelming, as in mostly no reply. Neighborly talk of happy hours and dinners at brewpubs, remained just that. Talk.

Was this the result of Covid’s social distancing hangover? Maybe. Maybe not.

I’m a sensitive guy who deplores being ignored. After going through a period of feeling lonely again. I woke, took a sip of coffee and gazed at the rising sun and thought, “There’s no place I’d rather be than in Durango, Colorado on a sunny summer’s day. I’ll load Sanctuary Too (my truck and camper) for a high country hike and camp out.” My motto became, “Tis better to be alone outside in a pretty place, than to sit at home alone.” So that’s how I spent my summer. I slept more often in Sanctuary Too than in my bedroom in Durango. I chose campsites seven miles away and three thousand feet higher than my nearest neighbors. The sunsets and sunrises were  magnificent. 

For above tree line social encounters, I did a handful of gigs as a Colorado Trail Angel. I’m pretty sure I appreciated the act of giving more than the hungry hikers appreciated the PB&J sandwiches I provided. Here’s the blog:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/08/its-830-in-morning-and-youve.html

Now as the days are perceptually getting shorter and cooler, I’ll set off and venture West behind the Zion Curtain of Utah.

There’s so many places to explore, so little time.

Which brings this post back to Durango and Covid. 

It’s been over two years since I gave up the “Homeless by Choice” lifestyle and settled down in Southwest  Colorado. In that time I’ve become quite fond of the vibe, energy and easy going nature of this small city of 19,000. It’s been a great fit for me despite a pandemic which,  I’ll just say it. Socially Sucks. 

But as much as I love Durango, I love the surrounding areas even more. Mountains, deserts

and the canyons in between. It’s all right here. Location. Location. Location.

Cheers and stay safe out there,

Jeff 

My Greater Sandhill Crane Escape.

from Durango’s Labor Day Weekend Four Corners Motorcycle Rally. 

Sandhill Cranes give loud, rattling bugle calls, each lasting a couple of seconds and often strung together. They can be heard up to 2.5 miles away and are given on the ground as well as in flight, when the flock may be very high and hard to see. They also give moans, hisses, gooselike honks, and snoring sounds.

Source: allaboutbirds.org.

I’m well aware that many of these bird vocalizations are similar to the noise emitted from Harley Davidson motorcycles and or their riders. But that’s where the similarities end. 

If those chrome pipes could speak, they’d be squawking, “Watzit to ya!” 

Whereas when a majestic Greater Sandhill Crane speaks, the sounds are ancient, inspiring and reassuring. Sandhill Cranes shout, “We’re still here! We’re survivors!” 

With this in mind, I did what I normally do when someone or something is bothering me. I leave.  I had to get away from the wrong kind of noise and the motorcyclists overly aggressive vibe. So… I attended the Yampa Valley Labor Day Weekend Crane Festival based in Steamboat Springs, CO instead.  

(By now I’m hoping Durango’s Hazardous Material Response Team mitigated the Bud Light and testosterone spills along Main Avenue.) 

I began my quest for Avian knowledge by attending Arvind Punjabi’s (an eminent scientist for the Bird Conservancy of the Rockies) presentation. His Thursday evening talk was sobering,. Since the 70’s  nearly three billion birds have gone missing in North America. They are the victims of climate change, loss of habitat, pollution and for many falling prey to domestic cats. Mr. Punjabi claimed birds might be the “Canaries in a coal mine” when it comes to our planet’s health. I don’t possess enough Doctorate degrees to doubt him. Earth is in trouble. 

On Friday, I found myself sitting on a shuttle bus at 5:45 am for a meeting with the Sandhill Cranes. I wasn’t the only Early Bird. The bus was packed with other yawning avian enthusiasts. En route, Van (a retired CO Division of Wildlife  Biologist) gave a Sandhill Crane quick teach presentation. There was a vast amount of information to absorb before first light. Between the bumps, grinds and engine noise, I gleaned whatever I was capable of hearing. Greater Sandhill Cranes top out at over four feet in height and weigh more than ten pounds. Their wingspan is equivalent to a small NBA player, (greater than six feet). They’re big birds who are capable of flying 200-300 miles per day. Sandhill Cranes are true athletes, not winged weekend warriors. 

Eventually, we all stumbled off the bus at the Hayden, CO residence of Nancy Merrill who happens to be the Founder of the Colorado Crane Conservation Coalition. (The same organization who sponsors this bird/birder friendly event.) During a solemn sunrise the Sandhills went airborne from the nearby wetlands of the Mighty Yampa River. Their destination was an upland feed zone.  Watching Sandhills in flight is as close to a religious experience I’ll ever have.

We got back on the buses and gave a  landlocked chase. Honestly, I can’t say the cranes chose their vegetarian restaurant for its scenic setting. There was a regional airport and Hayden’s coal burning power plant a short flight away. I suppose hunger conquers esthetics. 

At 9ish o’clock I boarded another shuttle for my scheduled bird walk at Carpenter Ranch. (A working cattle and feed operation preserved with the support of the Nature Conservancy. Be mindful of the cow pies). There we met Ted Floyd (editor of Birding magazine). Mr Floyd is as wired as a caffeinated hummingbird.  This bird authority knew his stuff though. Ted pointed to a retreating  mass of black specks.  “See that flock of Fuzzy Feathered Fussbirds? You can identify them by the whites of their eyes.” OK! It sort of went on like this  as my birding energy began to wane. Fortunately, two sightings occurred which grabbed my attention and woke me up. 

A) a Leopard frog. That was a BIGLY hit.

B) an adolescent slacker Bald Eagle who couldn’t be bothered to fly or fend for itself. It just sat in the same snag for about an hour. I dunno, maybe it was playing a video game. 

I wasn’t too bummed when this bird walk migrated back to Steamboat Springs. I had plenty of time to relax until Happy Hour. 

On Saturday, I had enough non-bird time to squeeze in a decent hike. Then I hustled over to the Steamboat Library for the keynote speaker presentation. Dr. Rich Beilfuss is the CEO and President of the International Crane Foundation based in Baraboo, WI.  He too has many Masters and Doctorate degrees. The good doctor spoke about the fifteen species of Cranes found the world over. Ten of these species are threatened. Including North America’s Whooping Crane. (There’s approximately 800 individuals.) On the other wing, Sandhill Cranes are considered a comeback success story of sorts. YAY! 

Saturday evening was spent back at Nancy’s bird friendly pad and paddocks for more Crane flights and feeding viewings. The undisputed highlight of the weekend came as the Cranes began to boogie to music only they could hear. Their dance is a bit of hip-hop, gyrations and wing flaps. Who needs “Dancing with the Stars” when you can view Cranes? 

The  Yampa Crane Festival whetted my beak to seek out these large, lovable winged critters at other festivals. As with all events though, Covid has changed the rules. Socorro, NM has already cancelled its November “Festival of the Cranes” over Covid concerns. The organizers for the Monte Vista (CO) Crane Festival suggest we check back again November for a Yay or Nay on whether or not it happens. 

Here’s the good news though. Cranes are illiterate. They haven’t read about social distancing, the advantages of being vaccinated or how to properly wear a mask. They are clueless in a great way. The Cranes will appear in the same wetlands at about the same time of the year. They aren’t on humanity’s schedule. Cranes are blessed in this regard.

In mid-November, I’ll spend my birthday at Bosque Del Apache Wildlife Preserve near Socorro, NM. I’ll be their at sunup and sunset and wander around in between. Join me and I’ll spring for dinner and drinks in Socorro after the Cranes turn in. 

I’m OK if the Cranes don’t bake me a birthday cake. For me the birthday present will be to see them once again.

Cheers,

Jeff

I’m not a Hut Guy.

If you’ve been following along since the 2014 inception of this blog, you’ve noticed my distinct disdain for hut to hut hiking. Oh! I have my reasons. IE: A nasty sinus infection from a Chilean hut super spreader event, the complete lack of privacy and the acrid odors and unique sounds of unrelated hikers in close quarters. Of course, I wrote about them:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/01/a-hut-too-far.html

So why did I bid $400 in the Great Old Broads of the Wilderness Online Auction for a four night Hut to Hut Sneffels Traverse? 

I blame it on bidding under the influence of Double IPAs. The next day I woke to a caffeine high instead of a hop high, sadly I discovered the winning bid was mine. CRAP! 

The auction item was for two, in huts which maxed out at eight. I reached out to a few sort of locals to join me. They had legitimate excuses. “I’m planning on shampooing my hair on those days.” Or “I scheduled an oil change at Jiffy Lube. I can’t break it.” 

On a whim, I turned to the other member of the Sub-Eleven Foot Expedition Team. My forty-plus year buddy Nelson. (Between the two of us we don’t add up to eleven feet in height.) 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/10/warning-paria-canyon-is-not-for-the.html?m=1

I launched the invite and informational website to my brother from another mother. “I already paid for this. You’ll get a freebie.” 

His answer was pure Nelson-Speak. “I’ll look into it. I’ll get back to you ASAP.” Translation: I’ll begin exhaustive research into blogs, interviews, photo content, reviews and the Library of Congress. This might take awhile.

Weeks later, “I’m interested.” Nelson-Speak. He’s figuring out the logistics and running it by his wife Jude. 

“Take your time. If you aren’t coming, I’ll camp with Sanctuary Too and just chalk the experience up to an IPA senior moment.” 

A bit about Nelson. He’s generous, kind, well traveled, considerate, an award-winning photographer, smart, humble and funny. He too grew up in the Big Apple. Unlike me, Nelson managed to jettison New York City’s “edginess” trait. This is probably why he’s an All-Around great human being.

A few days later, Nelson had his game plan for a “GO!” He sent me the details as I marked the dates on my wall calendar. 

From time to time we checked in on each other with questions and concerns. (We’re Jewish so we both harbor Hebrew Angst.) Our biggest concerns were:

A) What if our hut mates weren’t vaccinated?

B) or Worse! What if our hut mates were Glock carrying MAGA hat wearing Trumpers! OY!

Just in case, I packed a tent, sleeping bag/pad and stove. I planned on sleeping under my nylon dome regardless of who was going to join us. I’m the world’s lightest sleeper. I need my space.

Our worries were all in vain. Four of the eight hut mates canceled which left Dwight and Joan from Salt Lake City. We all met in Ouray for our hour long shuttle ride to the trailhead. It didn’t take me long to realize I was the boring homebody in this crew. Name a country or an adventure and Dwight, Joan and Nelson probably played there. I didn’t consider stating, “Oh yeah! Well I ride my bicycle to the local brewpubs at least twice a week!” Sometimes even I know it’s better to keep my mouth shut and listen. I might even learn something. Seriously, they are both Cookie cutter versions of Nelson and Zen-like too.. We struck Kosher Karma on this one. 

As far as the hike went, it was sort of underwhelming. Nelson and I are connoisseurs of big views, even though we are quite small. Most of the miles were spent maneuvering through a green tunnel of trees. After awhile it became a walking joke. “WOW! Nelson check out that Aspen!” Or “Of all the Spruce/Fir forests I’ve been to, this is one of them.” 

As the Polly Anna cliche goes though, “It’s all good!” I got the chance to hang with my buddy for a week and met two inspiring and interesting people who are strangers no more.

I’m pretty sure a wonderful time was had by all.

Note to self: Don’t drink double IPAs and bid at the same time.

Cheers,

Jeff

PS the really great photos are Nelson’s.