“How the old Mountains drip with Sunset
How the Hemlocks burn-
How the Dun Brake is draped in Cinder
By the Wizard Sun-”
My short time as an outdoor educator has been a great opportunity for me to more fully enjoy experiences that are available to anyone. Sunrises, sunsets, star gazing, spring’s green buds, mountain showers and long canyon hikes. These moments are more available to me now that I am focused on nature. I am more intentional with my time outdoors.
The changing seasons have more meaning to me now too. Birds and trees and evenings in the twilight are more important to me. They have become a greater part of my life and I take time to be present and experience each moment. I am more satisfied and content.
My summer work takes me to the Colorado mountains and streams but I spend most of my days in Oklahoma with its wide open spaces and broad horizons. It is a luxury to be able to do this and I don’t take it for granted.
Several times a year I witness a beautiful sunset from the edge of a canyon in western Oklahoma. It might be an early spring or a late fall sunset, full of colors and sounds, or maybe a muted and grey January early night fall. Mid-summer evenings can provide a cool breeze and powerful sunset after a hot and oppressive day of hiking. I always wonder at that 10 to 15 minutes of golden sun, shadows and color at the end of my day, no matter the time of year.
And it’s easy enough to watch the sunset through the oak trees from our back patio. Oklahoma provides some beautiful sunsets and very often our autumn dun doest brake in cinder as Ms. Dickinson poetically exclaims.
I watched an incredible sunset while camping on the Coleman-Deming glacier a few years ago and just about any sunset viewed from the Basilica Sacre-Coeur serves as a great introduction to a Parisian holiday. But two weeks ago I experienced a sunset I could not have planned nor imagined possible. It was an unexpected mountain setting that left me more aware of how nature can feed the soul
Sunday evenings at the camp where I spend my summer months are reserved for outdoor meals followed by vespers on a very special mountain top. Little Blue is the hub of camp, with outings and activities in the shadow and on top of this nearly 9000 foot peak. Campers have been climbing Little Blue on Sunday evenings for nearly fifty years.
The first Sunday of July was different from the dry and dusty days of June. We had thunder storms popping up all around us and wondered if we would be climbing Little Blue after dinner. Lightning in the Rocky Mountains is dangerous and it had been threatening all afternoon. But I chanced it and left camp early for a solo hike up the steep drainage and switchbacks winding through the Ponderosa and Aspen, and over the billion year old blue schist before topping out at a large clearing with views of the mountains to our west.
The hike to to the top of Little Blue is not a long walk but it does climb 600 feet from camp to summit. Campers are encouraged to hike in silence and prepare themselves by reflecting on the week’s activities. Our vespers include: tried and true camp songs, inspirational readings, laughter and a reflective talk from a camp leader. The goal is for campers to leave the gathering having learned something about themselves through the shared camp experience.
I was walking the trail to the summit thinking about the past week and my interactions with campers and staff, hoping to spend 45 minutes alone at the top of the mountain watching the sun, rain and mountains to the west. Dark clouds pressed in on me from the north with distant thunder putting our evening plans in question. I climbed and paid attention to the sounds and scents around me.
Solo hikes have been a regular activity for me this summer as I check in on daily activities and visit with campers on over-night outings. I enjoy the 5 to 7 mile hikes through camp’s six thousand acres of national forest. The trails have become familiar and I often bushwhack across sections to see what else I might find.
As I climbed higher toward the summit, the trail entered a large Aspen grove signaling the last bit of the climb. Beyond the Aspen trees is a short walk toward our vespers meeting space. The sky was dark and threatening and I anticipated watching rain falling across the western ranges.
Just as I was about to exit the Aspen grove I heard the very clear bugle call of a bull elk. From the volume I could tell the elk was close by but I could not see through the trees. So I froze at the edge of the Aspen just before entering the clearing ahead of me. As I was standing there, still as could be, I heard a cow respond. How cool! These two elk were talking to each other and I was able to overhear them.
Cow calls are more gentle and motherly while the bulls sound like a strange creature from Lord of the Rings. They grunt and bark and chuckle but the eerie and chilling bugle (especially in a dark and quiet wood) is the sound that makes them stand out. Cows call to their young calves to keep them close and also to make sure the bull is never too far off.
I was afraid to spook them and hoped to hear more talking between the two so I stood still scanning the two clearings, the one ahead of me where our camp planned to meet and another to my right down a long slope to the west. The large open area to my right extended over a ridge and down a valley I could not see. I assumed the elk were in that valley.
By luck these elk had a lot to say about the weather or delicious grass or perhaps their own weekly activities because they continued calling back and forth. It often sounded like two or three elk were speaking at the same time. Calves were mewing to their mothers and the cows were calling back to their young. Occasionally, a bull would bugle and grunt and it was all taking place on this special high spot in the middle of camp. I was thrilled to stand and listen and enjoy their conversations.
A light rain moved in on me so I quietly slipped on my rain coat and sat against an Aspen in hopes the elk would continue their chatter. The slight rain didn’t quiet them and I sat there listening to a herd of elk over the ridge talking as though they were having their own vespers. It was an incredible time alone there near the top of Little Blue.
I began to hope some campers or staff would quietly climb the trail and join me in listening to the elk chatter so we might share the experience But no one arrived.
After about 20 minutes of listening to the mewing and murmuring calls of the elk I heard our wranglers and horses making their way up a second trail toward the summit. They were joking and talking and of course the elk grew silent. I stood and continued with my hike to meet them as their trail brought them through the clearing toward our vespers spot. They told me they had seen a herd of 60 to 70 elk just over the ridge. A much larger herd than I expected.
Campers filtered up the trail and through the Aspen grove to the top of Little Blue for vespers. We sang songs and heard the director talk about rain and what it means for camp and how much we had learned during the month long session. We watched as rain storms moved across the mountains to our west and eventually everyone left to walk back to camp.
I sat a little while longer watching the sun set through rain showers and thinking what the elk might say.