Red Walls And Babbling Brooks

The last of the snow had melted and it was spring green. So it begins. Our first camping trip of the summer.

Three weeks ago, C and I explored new territory in our Great Plains state. We've covered a lot of ground over the years, but the map always offers one more blue dotted line we've yet to follow.

A tiny, dusty railroad town, where horses roam freely, led the way to mountains and canyons the color of cinnamon. On the dirt road we climbed higher and higher, and with every turn, all I kept saying was 'wow'. The landscape looked untouched and still, yet thriving with wildlife and wildflowers and sweet sage. Antelope with their big brown eyes were everywhere. They grazed together in groups, unafraid. Bucks sparring and playing along the side of the road or sitting alone like statues in the prairie grasses.

Next to a clear running creek, under a canopy of spruce, we pitched our tent. We toasted with cranberry juice and laced up our hiking boots without saying a word. We've been through this ritual a hundred times before, just in a different time, a different place.

We hiked along an animal trail that eventually followed a stream. The water was flowing steady and sparkling except for one stagnant pool that we came upon. In it was a brook trout. Stranded. We looked at each other, then in both directions of the creek. You must save the fish.

It's not the first time C has come to the rescue of a fish, or an animal or a human. In time of need, he's always there. Like my father says, it's his nature, to save things.

C uses his Tshirt as a net and scoops the little guy up, runs like a deer downstream and within a few seconds the brookie is revived in a deep and swiftly running part of the stream. We smile and cheer as we watch him swim away.

As the sun goes down we head back to camp. We spot five elk making their way up the mountain, in all their strength and graceful strides, they disappear like that, up and over the other side.

We've got the small campground to ourselves, except for a pair of red tail hawks that are doing some tree hopping and squawking. It looks as if they're trying out the view from the tallest spruce trees. Or maybe testing which one would make the sturdier nest. Whatever they are doing, the communication between them is back and forth, vocal and persistent. They soar and land and cock their heads. We crane our necks and squint and smile.

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I'm going to make a suggestion here. Before you take off on a long dirt road to your camping destination, grab a coffee to go from Starbucks or wherever you like to get your 'road joe'. Just make sure you take a cup of something on your trip. Otherwise, you might get to camp, and find out you've forgotten to pack your blue enamel camp cup. This paper cup that held your dark roast this morning will serve as your every beverage cup for the remainder of the trip. You can use it multiple times (fingers crossed). I used this cup for lots of cranberry juice, water, hot tea x 4, and two cups of coffee with honey. That last hot beverage, before we left camp the next day, I had to drink quickly, as the paper was starting to leak a little and the cup turned into a soggy wad in my hand.