Of Birds and Bikes: Whiskey Jack Part 1

Aspen leaf

I woke up late, there was no need to rush this morning. A fog bank had rolled in, so thick that it was hard to see the fresh, new snow that had fallen all night. My friend the broad-tailed hummingbird looked miserable. He was soaked, his feathers streaky and a frozen drop of water clung to his spectacular tail. Winter had made an early and sudden appearance, so much for my upcoming, "welcome autumn" post. I warmed myself with a cup of black coffee. This sudden cold front would put the birds into a little torpor. Even up in the mountains. I dressed quickly and in warm clothing, I had seen pictures of the snow that had fallen on Pikes Peak the day before and I was heading for its western slope. On my way out of Colorado Springs I stopped at the 711 where I usually buy gas and instead bought a bag of shelled peanuts and then was headed west again. The snow had stopped falling and had melted off the road but the fog was perpetual and thick. I turned left onto highway 67 and started towards Cripple Creek, the original gold district. My stop was well before the town though. I was walking the 704 trail and part of the 706 Ring the Peak, which is an unfinished circle all the way round Pike Peak. The moment you step out of your car and onto the trail you are in the heart of the forest. Old, huge pine trees blot out the sun and the feeling of isolation is complete. Most of the trees are lodge pole, straight and tall with no branches at the base and the ones near the top are stubby and gnarled. There are smaller firs and even smaller spruce mixed in as well as the very occasional spade leafed aspen.

Aspen leaves and ice

The forest floor is loamy and deep with decaying pine needles from end to end. There is no grass but this forest sport lichens and moss. A lot of moss.

Lodgepoles and moss

At one point my brother and I joked that if this forest had a guardian it would be a tree-man covered fully in moss, we called him Bryophyta. I always envisioned him wearing one of those stupid boonie hats like all the tourists do and carrying a silver tankard of apple cider and a lantern.

Bryophyta

Everything in the deep forest seems bigger, the trees, the rocks, the birds. Everywhere could be heard the sweet, clear tones of mountain chickadees and the simple mechanical calls of nuthatch.

Mountain Chickadee, note the white stripe over the eye

The fog lent a beautiful diffuse light which brought the greens of the lichens and the moss out sharply from the gray trees and rocks. It also gave cover to whatever was following me. Since I'd gotten about 200 feet away from the car I had been tailed by a woodland creature. Something stealthy enough to avoid detection but not so much as to avoid the occasional misstep, breaking a branch or triggering one of the millions of western grey squirrels that acted as sentries.

Red (also called Pine) Squirrel

I couldn't be sure what it was, but I knew it wasn't big enough to be a bear so I ignored it for the most part. A small creek, the name of which I don't know flows rapidly and viciously in a small ravine on the side of the trail. You can't see it but it makes a lot of noise for such a small flow. It alternates between a happy gurgle and an angry crashing at random intervals. My tail didn't make use of the loud crashes in between the happy gurgles to move up closer behind me. The trail bursts into small irregular clearings, these are caused by the tundra that is fed by the creek intruding into the forest. For a few hundred feet delicate, hairy grass sprouts up into the undergrowth and the trail turns mushy. Blue irises line the bases of the trees, stealing what light they can from the old giants.

wild iris

Today, the fog was creating a special effect called Godlight. The fog bounces the light around and the trees focus it into a beam that then highlights a section of forest floor. There's usually something very green growing in the middle of the beam of light, simply because a lot of light hits that spot even when the fog doesn't make it obvious. We've all seen the effect in movies. A prince finds a sword that a single ray of sun is highlighting in the deep dark forest before uniting the kingdom or some other such plot.

Godlight

Tucked up into the trees at the far end of one of these clearings is a sign that directs the traveler to either the Pancake Rocks or the Falls, I initially chose the falls. The bird that I was looking for might be more attracted to the water and I'd need all the help I could get in tracking one down. Clark's Nutcracker are listed as uncommon, I've never seen one but this forest would be a perfect residence, rocky coniferous forest with plenty of water as well as a nice edge where the tundra meets the forest. I reached the falls without event, though the fog was still making sighting anything difficult. There are several rustic campsites near the falls. I inspected a few of them. One sits atop a large granite outcropping that rises mysteriously from the surrounding hills, trees grow freely at the top. I know the view, a look into the Collegiate Range, but there was no view today. I headed back down and sat at a handmade firepit that had been erected in almost the same place I had once pitched a tent. I could hear woodpeckers drumming on lodgepoles, a quick search and I could make out a hairy woodpecker. The chickadees were still going at it, flitting in and out branches chasing tiny gnats. An accipiter called, but I'll never be able to tell you which one. And finally a titanic raven powered through the sky above me, calling his territorial call all the while, a bass, "gro-gro-gro" that bounced around the trees. I scattered some peanuts and tried a pshpshpsh call of my own, and only succeeded in getting another accipiter call. After about a half hour I stood and made my way back towards the sign. At the sign I was treated to a sighting of ten to twelve red shafted flickers on the other side of the tundra. I'm not sure what they were doing, chasing each other around a tree and calling frantically in two seperate and unique calls. I also saw a hoard of little dark-eyed juncos, autumns harbinger, flitting from berry laden shrub to berry laden shrub.