The Upper Canyon

In the upper canyon of the Cache la Poudre River is a narrow rock cut and subsequent rapids where the river yields 68 feet of elevation to 300 yards of distance.  Not really a destination to itself, you need to know it's there in order to find it, but it is worth the effort and brief pause in the struggle of driving the entire canyon road.

On this afternoon, I had been nearly exsanguint while hiking in the near-by mountains and stopped here to have a break and listen to the river churn along the stone.   Cautious and clamorous on the loose embankment, I sat below the road intent and content to stare at the water, eventually lulled into a trance by the sound and the motion.  After a time, I began feeling better, blame the air, blame the ions, it's true nonetheless.

At the end of a hot day battling droves of snow-pool mosquitos for little pay-off and sore feet, I found respite in a place where nature's sounds are hemmed to their highest.  Drawn toward the water unwelcoming, yet soothing in it's way.  Gushing down canyon it drowns the logging truck noise and camper traffic.  Drifting into the granite my thoughts pause at the certainty of sight.

Tormented until now by my incurious counselors, the immobile & the impermanent, I grapple to my feet, wobbling away, homeward.  The moment lost in the hour, the lesson lost to lecture.  An aging man climbs a hill.  Wildness exists in temperance of itself.