On a day that felt...

more like early-May than post-summer solstice, I headed uphill toward Timber Lake in RMNP.

When I closed in on tree line, there was hail, a few rogue lightning bolts and moose.

I love moose. They are an animal designed by a painfully hungover committee. While elk have the grace, style and class of Michael Jordan in his prime. Moose are content to have evolved from Homer Simpson. Doh! 

The committee members added aquatic talents to their long list of descriptors. Decades ago, I saw a bull wade out into a lake on Isle Royale National Park. He went Tarzan for 45 seconds below the surface. Who the heck knows what he was doing under the water. Eating? Looking at the fish? Checking out the view? 

I didn't ask and he didn't tell.

Warming trend on the horizon in Grand Lake, Colorado.

Yay!

Cheers!

Jeff

So long Boulder, Colorado and the...

Front Range for now. 

It's been a very comfortable month of hanging out despite the stranger than usual weather. (Yesterday's high temperature was in the 60's). 

Here's my clicheish thought on world climate change. The new normal is there is no normal.

Which is similar to the denizens of Boulder. What's normal? It's a people watching paradise. Even an ADD adult like myself can be entertained for hours while drinking an IPA and watching the throngs of humanity breeze by on Pearl Street. 

Colorado is home to me, make no mistake about it. Too bad, Sid Sambur passed on his Cold Weenie gene to his youngest son. It would be so easy to live in this state if I could handle inclement weather. 

But then again, there wouldn't be a W, W Jew blog. 

Off to a wet campground in Rocky Mountain National Park manana. Good thing I have a great book to read to while away the night.

Come on summer!

Jeff

The Wandering, Wondering Jew Blog...

Turns One as America turns 239 years young. 

Coincidence? I think not. 

Both are representative of the wonderful concept of FREEDOM! If you readers haven't  figured it out, I value the notion that I can go traipsing around as I please, just as long as I have the proper permits! 

Alas, freedom is not free. Once again, I give thanks to the Military Veterans who fought for our nation in order to preserve the ideas of our Forefathers.

I give thanks to this country for allowing my parents to seek sanctuary in New York City, in order to escape the insanity of the Holocaust. 

I give thanks to President Theodore Roosevelt for his foresight in saving my cherished National Forests, National Parks and Monuments. I have no problem with this huge Federal Land grab. If not for him the western wild lands would be riddled with sub-divisions named in memory of what they displaced: Redwood Ridge, Elk Meadows and Quail Hollow. Yech! 

I give thanks for our Freedom of Speech. I have the Constitutional OK to display my highly opinionated views on my blog without being hauled away to an uncomfortable gulag. Although, I don't have the right to go into a full-house theater and scream, "Fire! Fire!" That's a rule I can live with. 

Lastly, I want to thank all you readers and hackers who check into my blog. I scored around 17,700 pageviews for the year. I'm still trying to figure out what gets your attention. Comments and critiques are few. 

So...please continue to give a gander in. Feel free to forward my blog address to your billions of Facebook friends, hackers and family members. Maybe The W, W J blog will go viral in the coming year.

Have a safe and Happy 4th of July.

Cheers,

Jeff

PS. I included a photo of Little Dyl to symbolize what one year old is. She's pretty cute and adorable too. Her dream is to one day own her own pink Barley the Van. 

Another Brother from another Mother...

Unlike Brad who's tall, Waspish and votes Republican, Nelson and I kind of look alike. He's also a Member of the Tribe. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ae/2015/04/my-brother-from-another-mother.html

Together the Sub-Eleven Foot Expedition Team (our combined heights don't add up to eleven feet) have summited the second highest mountain in Wyoming, survived the Mud, Blood, Sweat and Tears hike along the West Coast Trail, escaped from an overzealous Park Ranger at Mount Rainier National Park, pissed off two uptight Minnesotan couples at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and fished each other out of quicksand holes in Paria Canyon.  Yes, these are two tiny tough Hebrews. 

What's makes our feats even more impressive is that the Children of Israel aren't  thought of as explorers (except Moses and Noah, and they had no choice). I've heard rumors of a "Famous Jewish Explorers and Adventurers" book. It's the thickness of a Marvel Comic. 

The accompanying photo was taken atop Hallett Peak in RMNP. The trip was uneventful as far as trails and tribulations go.  At our age, that's not a bad thing. 

I'm hoping my older, shorter brother can join me in many trips to come. Fun and feisty backpacking buddies are hard to find. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ae/2014/08/the-sub-eleven-foot-expedition-team.html

The final photo is the Sub 11.5 Foot Expedition Team. Nephew Keith scored a Kitchen Pass for a short hike around the summits of Boulder. He's waiting in the wings for a full expedition. 

Cheers!

Jeff

Too much White Death

For the first day of summer. 

On Dad's day and the solstice, I hiked 12 miles to Pear Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park. There were no fruit orchards at 10,500" but snowshoe amounts of the evil stuff. I post-holed along the trail, took an unplanned dip in Pear Creek (icy water up to my hinterlands), and snapped a few pix. 

It'll be awhile before the  High Country (that can mean a few things in Colorado) will be fully tenable. 

I'm hereby issuing an ultimatum, the cold crap must be melted and flowing downstream before July 8th. That's the day I'm heading west and into the best parts of Colorado. 

If Mother Nature doesn't cooperate, I'm bringing out an industrial sized hair dryer to perform the task. 

Come on Summer to the Mountains!

Jeff

Happy Dads Day...

Sid Sambur, may you finally RIP.

It takes both parents to create a new personality.

My Mom, Clara was responsible for the Jewish Mother side of me. I'm quite happy with getting her smile, affectionate and nurturing traits. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ae/2015/05/i-still-miss_10.html

My Dad, Sid provided me with my practical side. Sid was a small man with large opinions. He wasn't afraid to call someone out for "talking crazy." He saw the world as a piano keyboard-black or white. He held fast to his many notions and ideas. We called him "The Enforcer." His daily energy output made Hoover Dam's hydroelectric power seem puny.  He was a true survivor in every sense of the word. 

Stories abound of his many almost-got-him escapes in life. He was the one member of a family of five who made it out of the Holocaust years alive. In many ways, he was inspirational in his drive to keep going on. 

Sid and I had our differences, (probably because we were so similar) but I loved the man. 

My favorite notable Sid quote (there are scores of them like Yogiisms) is this one. "How can a man have three sons and each one be so different?"

So Sid, I hope you and Clara are getting along in heaven. (She gave him the silent treatment when she was cross with him.) I wrote the following story awhile ago as a tribute to you.

Hope you enjoy it.

Planting a Tree…                                                                   

                                                                                          

    My father, a survivor of Hitler’s insane concept of human genetics, planted a tree at our house in the Bronx. The sapling was a two-foot white pine that my father appropriated from the Catskill Mountains, AKA in the “Big Apple” as the Jewish Alps. “Jeffy, watch! This tree will one day be taller than our house,” he proclaimed. Like a faithful son, I believed him.

    One winter, a Nor’easter blizzard blew down along the eastern seaboard. The heart-attack-heavy snow broke the tiny, white pine in half. My dad, a tailor by profession, but whom Uncle Sam trained to be a medical assistant in WWII, sprang into action. He fashioned a splint made of a few sticks, a side order of rags and a lot of twine. With these meager tools and devices, he made the wounded tree whole again. He reasoned, “It works for people, why not trees?”

    In 1978, I escaped the hassle and hustle of the Big Apple and moved out West. Now I, a son of a son of a tailor and graduate from the Syracuse College of Forestry, nurture trees at my home in Fort Collins, Colorado.

   

    I can’t take all the credit; I get a lot of help from Mother Nature. Neighborhood squirrels burrow acorns into the mulch and forget where they placed them. A white-oak sapling will arise a season later. My furry friends do the same with apple cores and cherry and peach pits. I have a virtual fruit stand growing in my yard. We haven’t had much luck with avocado pits yet. When the oaks, peaches, apples, cherries and ashes grow too close together, I’ll go in and do a “thinning operation,” and rearrange some saplings. Once in awhile, I have to place a few up for adoption.

     Letting go of my green children is always a difficult process. First I have to find a suitable “parent.” Then the lengthy application process begins. With questions such as, “Are you aware that Colorado is now in a drought?” Then a follow-up query, “Will you be able to provide an adequate supply of water for this young plant?” After that, I quiz the applicant about his or her general knowledge on such diverse topics as soil conditions, fertilizers and peat moss. Only when I am satisfied with their answers will we venture out into the yard with a shovel in tow. As we dig up the adopted seedling, I make sure the new owner understands that I get visitation rights. It’s never easy to let go.

    In the fall of 2000, I went back east to visit family and friends. I borrowed a car and drove out to see my childhood home in the Bronx. I was glad that I had faith in my Dad. He was right; that white pine tree is now taller than the house.

    Do yourself a favor; plant a tree. It’s good for the soul.

    

    

     

                                                                                                                                                                    

The Early Blogger gets...

The Peak to himself. I hit the Grey Rock Trail a few hours post sunrise. It was cool, quiet and the only living things besides me was green. (Be mindful of the poison ivy). 

There was water flowing everywhere! 

The Grey Rock Trail was originally constructed by the Civilian Conservation Core in the 1930's.

Roosevelt's Tree Army did an admirable job with all their projects. This trail is no exception.

Strong Work! Gentlemen!

Grey Rock (7,513") is a National Recreation Trail. 

It was crazy busy by the time I descended. How busy was it Jeff?

There was a "Wait List" for reaching the summit. 

"Smith Party of four, your peak is waiting!"

Foreign visitors were on the "Will Call" List. 

Cheers from Fort Collins, Colorado 

Jeff