A Pilgrimage to the Fallen...

At Storm King Mountain Fire Memorial.

Halloween seemed a fitting day to visit the Wildland firefighters who made the ultimate sacrifice while combating this lightning caused inferno. October 31st is more than Trick or Treating or dressing up in a costume; it's about remembering the deceased too. 

I made my way along an established trail through a steep, windswept landscape. Sporadic stands of scrubby oaks adorned the hillsides. The whole scene was punctuated by narrow gullies plunging toward the Colorado River below. 

On a minor ridgeline I turned right to the site where twelve heroes met their fate. The vertical distance between life and death was approximately 80 feet. For Hot Shot Scott Blecha it was a mere 20 feet to salvation. With the rate of fire spread estimated to be 35'/second the distance may as well been measured in light years. There was no escape from this kill zone when the fire turned into a pyre for the victims. 

Two Helitack crewmembers succumbed in a nearby rocky ravine well below the ridgeline. 

Please take a moment to read the poem placed on a plaque near the memorial. I couldn't help myself, I wept on that mountain.

Mann Gulch Fire: Montana. 1949. 13 Fatalities.

Storm King Mountain Fire: Colorado. 1994. 14 Fatalities.

Yarnell Hill Fire: Arizona. 2013. 19 Fatalities.

We can only hope history will one day stop repeating itself.

Good night on Halloween.

Thrown off the bike...

Thursday!

This was how my summer of 2014 began. A major tumble followed up by this major owwie. (Please ignore the bikini briefs, little people require little undergarments). 

This purple mess misshaped the left side of my middle. Shorts that previously required a belt were tight on me. Unmentionable body parts were discolored too. I spent my time in boring Utah towns (isn't that a statement of redundancy?) with ice packs on my wounds. I wasn't a happy camper. 

I tried to recover on a two-week raft trip through the Grand Canyon. In that magnificent gouge I acted (correct description) as an assistant boatman. The chores left me feeling worn out and whooped. Hey! I've been retired for nearly seven years. I'm not used to working a schedule or being productive. 

My summer was starting off as a bust.

Then the Queen of Good Fortune rained down on me. On a hike down Mount Sopris, I missed my turn off from the summit. I was following West Sopris Creek when I spotted a young woman sunbathing au natural. 

From that defining moment on, all was good and right in my world. The summer was salvaged! I owe it all to the naked woman on Sopris. May God bless and protect you and provide you with some warm clothes this winter.

That's my Throwback Thursday tale.

The rest of the story can be found on the Mount Sopris post.

From Carbondale, Colorado

Jeff

He got the urge for going...

When the meadow grass was turning brown

Summertime was falling down and winter was closing in

Joni Mitchell

Atop 8,144 foot Green Mountain, I could see the inevitable approaching. The summits of Rocky Mountain National Park had the appearance of numerous squashed down vanilla ice cream waffle cones. They were spray painted with White Death (AKA snow) in the parlance of this Blogger. 

I'm no Frozen Chosen Wandering Jew. It's getting too chilly to wear flip flops on my bicycle rides to Happy Hour saloons. It's time to go.

By tomorrow, I'll be saying goodbye to Boulder until the sowing season of 2015. 

The Utah deserts are calling, but I won't wander around them for forty years like Moses and company. 

Isn't retirement great?

BTW. You can subscribe to this blog with no money down and no obligation. If you aren't 100% satisfied, you can unsubscribe anytime. 

Does the Wandering, Wondering Hindu blog offer the same great deal?

Cheers!