It starts in late October, and you will flip and tack 7 pages on the calendar before it’s gone. Actually the prospect of a winter at 9600’, within view of the Continental Divide, was always in his plans. He just had to keep his woman and young daughter believing in the value of the challenge.
Although the sun took till mid-morning to get over the mountain, once in view, it radiated the valley with optimism. There was a sense of being part of something very special. Digging out each morning took him back to his Midwest roots of method over madness, and order trumping chaos. Put another way, he simply had to have clean lines of shoveled trails out to the truck and around the porch of the rented cabin. Obsession has its merits.
As the months unfolded, and he stacked the snow higher and higher, his paths became nearly tunnels. The day brought forth a series of efforts well before his daughter crawled out from under the mountain of comforters piled in her crib, with her stocking cap pulled down over her smiling eyes. He had of course shoveled the path, cleaned and jumped the vehicles, gathered a new day’s wood from the pile, fired up that Franklin woodstove, and was singing Johnny Cash songs along with the radio station as well doctored oatmeal warmed in the pan. A healthy vigorous spirit was essential.
As they drove down the canyon toward Boulder they would marvel at the climate change as the elevation returned to 5600’. By the time they parked and climbed out, dressed like Shackleton kin, they would see the university students walking to class wearing just a sweater and sunglasses. Then the three of them would strip out of their burly layers and join the natives.
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