Wild Animal Attack

Yesterday, I left a town named for a flower, passed through four named for rocks or minerals and one named for a tree, with the intention of camping outside a city with a name full of promise for rock-climbers–Boulder. The towns were Paonia (from the Latin for Peony), Marble, Basalt, Carbondale, Aspen, and Leadville (“Great Living at 10,200′ “).

I took scenic routes through country full of pine woods and gorges and stopped for two spontaneous walks in the mountains–first at the ruins of a boom and bust mining town and then along a bare ridge at Independence Pass, where the waters separate. I am, for the time being, back in the Atlantic watershed.

I stopped here to salute the Great Divide, passing west to east this time. I’ll be flitting over the Divide for much of this journey.

I rejoined the interestate, for the first time in weeks, and fell with the rest of traffic down the Front Range. I watched the elevation listed on my GPS drop precipitously–from 11,000 feet to 8,000 before I turned off, on a northbound road, in the dark.

A place called Central City appeared like a dream–old-fashioned streets bright-lit with amber streetlamps, tucked tightly into hills, and lined with casinos. Past the town, I followed a sign pointing toward a campground six miles off. I was tired, and six miles  seemed like a long way on a dirt road. The road changed, suprisingly, to pavement and then Central City reappeared, even more like a dream.

I drove to another campground, but found it full. Since my route ran through National Forest, I decided to pull over, and happily found that that the pine woods by the road were flat with an open, needle-carpeted floor. The night was clear, so I didn’t need a tent.

As I settled down in my camp bed, I heard a dog barking–probably from a nearby house. But when that turned into a whole chorus of whinnying, high-pitched barks, I had to change my theory. Coyotes? I considered this. I have never heard of a camper being molested by coyotes, and they settled down, so I went to sleep.

Earlier in the day, I saw a bear cub as I drove through Marble. And  I met a weasel/ferret type of creature in the remains of a stone foundation in the abandoned mining town.

These mountains are full of life! I haven’t even been in the woods that much, since I’ve been researching some uranium articles (don’t worry, worried friends: I am planning to change to change my ways soon)–and yet I have seen:

• Golden eagles
• Coyote
• Mountain goat (I think) springing through the woods like a deer
• Bright green hummingbird high in the mountains
• Abundant deer with big antlers
• Moose
• Ground squirrels
• (Normal) squirrels
• Marmots
• Chipmunks
• Ferret/weasel
• Some other rock-dwelling rodent, by the dozen on Mt. Yale, about the size of a guinea pig
• Rabbits
• Ducks
• Bear cub
• Butterflies, bees, innumerable insects
• All kinds of birds

At dawn, I learned that I was offending one of the wild residents. In a nearby tree, a  squirrel was barking his head off. Well, I was really tired, and I figured I could sleep through his percussive squirrel chant. Or at least wait it out. I won. He finally quite making that noise, and I was drifting peacefully back to sleep.

Then the squirrel charged my sleeping bag! He ran at me full blast, stopping just short of my face. I felt the pillow move and opened my eyes with the squirrel inches away. This is the first time a squirrel has made me scream.

So he won. Squirrel territory succesfully defended. I picked up my bed and moved to another patch of forest floor. I got maybe 20 minutes more rest, when another squirrel, or likely the same one, ran up a nearby tree and started that repetitive, aggressive bark. That’s when I gave up, packed my things, and drove the rest of the way down the mountains.

So, that is how I got to Boulder. The squirrels chased me.