Rocky Mountain National Park Read online

  Dad looked around while the hood of his jacket dripped fresh rainwater into his pasta. He laughed at his predicament.

  Morgan was first to finish her dinner. She quickly began cleaning up. Then James and the rest of the family joined her. They hastily washed dishes, brushed their teeth, and scrambled to put all their gear away before jumping into the tent.

  By then it was really pouring. The rain pounded onto the top of the tent and thunder rumbled intermittently.

  The Parkers changed clothes and got into their sleeping bags. It was 8 PM. “What do you want to do now?” Morgan asked.

  “Play cards?” James suggested.

  Morgan, James, Mom, and Dad scooted closer together. They set up a playing area on a dry towel. Soon Dad was shuffling a deck of cards while the pounding rain continued to serenade them. “I have a feeling we’re going to have to get used to this,” Dad said.

  • • •

  The next morning, the Parkers slept in.

  It was cool, shady, and wet out when Dad returned from the bathroom. “It’s 38 degrees,” he reported to his still-snuggled-up family. “But at least the skies are clear.”

  Eventually sunlight filtered through the trees and began to dry up the area. Finally, after 9 AM the Parkers got up and ate breakfast. They took their time packing, and in the late morning they started their journey up Trail Ridge Road, the highest continuous paved highway in the United States.

  5

  As the family began their drive up Trail Ridge Road, Dad noticed the pavement was dried out from the morning sun. “It doesn’t even look like it rained here last night,” he said.

  Dad drove slowly while carefully maneuvering the car around several tight turns. Finally, at Farview Curve, Dad pulled the car into a small parking area. The family got out and gazed at the grassy meadows of Kawuneeche Valley far below.

  James checked the sky. “Are those cumulus clouds?” he asked Dad.

  “Yep,” Dad responded. “If we were in San Luis Obispo, they would most likely mean fair weather. The cool ocean temperature nearby just doesn’t allow our air to warm, rise, and destabilize into clouds on a summer afternoon. But here in the Rocky Mountains, those clouds probably portend another round of you know what.”

  The family piled back into the car and resumed their climb.

  Soon they reached Milner Pass. The elevation sign there read 10,758. “Boy, we’re high up now,” Mom announced.

  Dad pulled into another small parking area, at Poudre Lake. Mom pointed out a sign nearby. “We’re right on the Continental Divide!”

  “So,” James thought for a moment, “that means all rivers east of here flow to the Gulf of Mexico, then to the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “And one foot west, they all flow to the Pacific,” Morgan added.

  “You both get As in geography,” Mom confirmed, smiling.

  The Parkers walked along a trail crossing over the divide. A short while later, Mom checked the time. “It’s almost noon,” she reported. “Should we head back and drive on?”

  So they did, stopping to have a picnic lunch along the shore of Lake Irene.

  Soon the family was back in the car. The road really climbed now, and the forest quickly thinned out. Trail Ridge Road emerged above the tree line.

  Morgan noticed clouds billowing across the sky. “It’s like we’re right up there with them!” she exclaimed.

  “We might as well be, with the way this car is driving,” Dad complained. “It’s losing its oomph as we gain elevation.”

  The Parkers approached a large, busy parking lot. Dad pulled into the Alpine Visitor Center area, and the family piled out—and immediately realized how cold it was. They all grabbed jackets and ponchos, and Dad also dug out his thermometer and GPS, packing them into a backpack.

  Their eyes were immediately drawn to a line of hikers climbing a steep, wide trail at the end of the lot. At the beginning of the path a warning sign read: DO NOT ASCEND THIS TRAIL WHEN THUNDERSTORMS ARE THREATENING.

  Mom glanced up and saw the thick gathering of clouds. “I guess we can try hiking for a little bit,” she said warily.

  As soon as they started walking, Dad pulled out his GPS. He fumbled with some buttons and a moment later checked the reading. “Just like the sign said, 11,796 feet,” he announced.

  “I think that’s the highest elevation I’ve ever been at,” James said.

  Morgan looked up the trail. “Not for long!”

  The Parkers climbed the walkway. Their labored breathing kept them moving slowly. Along the path, small signs identified tiny plants and flowers of the tundra’s short summer-growing season. “Moss campion,” Mom called out at one sign.

  Later the Parkers passed by several other labeled flowers of the tundra world. “Alpine forget-me-not. And sky pilots—they’re my favorite,” Morgan said.

  “It’s nice they have a distinct walkway to keep us off the fragile, tiny plants,” Mom said.

  A quarter of a mile up, the trail leveled off. A small bench sat next to the path. Morgan placed her camera on the back of the bench so she could take a picture of her family using the timer. She gazed through the lens. “Hey! Look!”

  In the distance a large bull elk pranced across the meadow. The elk paused and looked toward the Parkers, then it continued on, stopping to nibble on some tiny shoots of grass.

  Morgan took a photo of the elk, then set the timer to take one of her whole family.

  Mom noticed a path continuing beyond the bench and glanced up at the sky. “Shall we go a bit farther?”

  The Parkers walked along, moving faster on the flatter section of the path.

  Soon they approached a small pile of rocks. Visitors gathered there, signaling that it was the end of the trail. Dad clambered up the rock pile. He stood on top, held out his GPS, and announced, “12,005 feet!”

  James noticed a sign nearby that also identified the elevation. “That’s 2.3 miles above sea level,” he read.

  The sky was dark. Leaden clouds billowed about. A cool, stiff breeze accompanied the clouds. Dad checked his thermometer: “Forty-six degrees,” he told them.

  “Boy, summers here are colder then our winters!” Mom exclaimed.

  A few tiny white balls began to drop out of the clouds. James ran to pick one up and examine it. “It’s ice!” he called back to his family. The tiny pieces of hail blew across the ground, then quickly melted.

  Dad glanced up at the clouds. “It’s coming!” he said.

  “Then it’s time to head back,” Mom said.

  The family jogged back to the bench area. Pellets of hail continued to come down sporadically, then let up.

  At the top of the wide walkway, the Parkers paused briefly, noticing some visitors still heading up. The family continued down just as another curtain of hail swept over them.

  James inspected a hailstone that took longer to melt. “Some of them are marble-sized now,” he assessed.

  Suddenly the hail started pelting down, ricocheting off the ground. In an instant, everything was getting coated in white. The Parkers shielded their eyes and put their hoods up. Then they scampered down, heading for the safety of the nearby store.

  6

  The family ran across the parking lot as hail sprayed down and caromed around like marbles being thrown from the sky. The Parkers finally reached the door and Dad held it open, escorting his family into shelter.

  It was a completely different world inside. Visitors strolled around, shopping. Morgan noticed there was even a small café. Then she looked at her shivering brother.

  Mom saw James too. “Come on,” she suggested. “I think it’s time for some hot chocolate.”

  The family sat down in the little restaurant, next to a window. They stared outside, watching the landscape get coated more heavily in white while a waterfall of icy water cascaded off the roof.

  After everyone got hot drinks and some snacks, James took out his journal and wrote:

  This is James Parker reporting from the store
on Trail Ridge Road.

  This road is the highest-elevation paved highway in the United States! Soon we’ll be passing the summit at over 12,100 feet. (That is, if this storm ever clears.) Mom and Dad said that will be the highest elevation they’ve ever been at.

  And to think, our house in San Luis Obispo is about 200 feet above sea level. No wonder we all feel dizzy and light-headed!

  Right now it is hailing outside. But across the way I can still make out some steep banks of snow. And although they’re hard to spot in this weather, there are a few bighorn sheep nearby! I guess they’re used to ice pelting them from the sky.

  I hope we don’t have to get used to it, though.

  Keeping our fingers crossed for sunny summer weather.

  James Parker

  After finishing their hot chocolate, the Parkers looked at souvenirs in the gift shop and eventually wandered over to the visitor center.

  Morgan took out her journal and wrote some notes about what she read there.

  Dear Diary,

  We’re high up in Rocky Mountain National Park. This place is very interesting! I walked around the visitor center here, learning about the land of tundra. In fact, there’s no other park quite like it. For example:

  About one third of this park, including this area, is in this tundra zone. Tundra means “land without trees,” and no wonder trees can’t survive—winds in the winter can blow over 150 miles an hour up here. And on Trail Ridge Road it’s below freezing for eight months of the year! So small plants only have a chance to grow for six to twelve weeks. According to what I just read, the weather in this part of the park is like being in the Arctic!

  What else? Ptarmigans—birds that live up here—change their color in the winter from brown to white so they can blend in.

  It’s all very interesting to me.

  Dad came by and tapped Morgan on the shoulder. “Morgan, when you’re finished, we should take a look outside.”

  A moment later, Morgan closed her journal. Dad guided her to a window. The sun had managed to find a break in the clouds, and the wintry scene outside was now bathed in bright light. Already some of the hail was melting away, exposing the tundra grass again.

  Dad turned toward Morgan. “I think it’s time for us to head on down the highway.”

  Morgan and Dad walked outside and met James and Mom. The parking lot was wet, but most of the ice was on the tundra, not on the pavement. The family walked to their car and got in. Mom started the engine and turned on the wipers, pushing away a pile of slushy ice.

  A moment later the Parkers were slowly heading east along Trail Ridge Road.

  Dark clouds drifted overhead with shafts of sunlight spiking down from them. Small piles of hail were still heaped in a few places next to the road. And the wet pavement emitted steam in the sun.

  “Look at how tall those poles are!” James called out. “Are they for finding the road in the winter?”

  “Probably they’re there for the snowplows,” Dad replied.

  “It’s under snow nine months of the year up here,” Morgan explained, remembering the visitor center displays.

  Mom pulled into the small Tundra Communities Trail parking lot, where they had planned to take their next walk. She turned to Dad and the kids. “What do you think?”

  Dad noticed the time. “It’s already late afternoon,” he said.

  Then Mom checked the sky. “And I wonder if the storms are even done. Maybe we should call it a day and head to our campsite.”

  The family drove on, and the road continued to wind through the tundra plateau. “I feel like we’re on the rooftop of the world,” Morgan said.

  Mom smiled. “I think that’s a perfect way to describe it.”

  A short while later Mom pulled over at Forest Canyon Overlook. The Parkers scurried down to a viewing area and gazed at the Rockies’ highest peaks, still covered with large patches of snow. Below the mountains were several lakes and a deeply forested canyon.

  “Hey, look!” James called out.

  Three bull elk were on the tundra. One stood tall with its antlers spiking high over its head. “Wow,” Dad gasped while watching the majestic animals.

  A few drops of rain began spitting down again, and the wind picked up. The Parkers dashed back to their car.

  They soon began a long descent, returning to the forest. Eventually Mom turned toward the Glacier Basin area and their campground, where they’d spend the next several days.

  7

  A loud, high-pitched sound came from a tree on a hill.

  “Up there!” someone called, pointing.

  A large bird was perched on a branch of a lodgepole pine.

  “It’s a red-tailed hawk!” the ranger exclaimed.

  The group of people watched the hawk. Some, like Mom, were using binoculars. “I can see its distinctly red tail,” Mom noted. “And that hooked beak. You can sure tell what its diet consists of.”

  Suddenly the raptor lifted its wings. It took off and dipped downhill, right toward the birders.

  The large bird glided through the air and screeched again as it flew past, then landed on another branch. The hawk scanned the skies before flying away a moment later.

  Morgan wrote down “red-tailed hawk” in her journal. “That’s eleven species I’ve seen so far,” she called out to her family.

  Ranger Charles, who was leading the early morning birding walk in the Upper Beaver Meadows, turned toward Morgan. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Ten,” she replied.

  “You know, I’ve been doing this ever since I was about your age,” he told her. “So that means about seventy years of birding. I’ve kept a record book, too, so I can look back at my notes. I’ve birded here, in Rocky Mountain National Park, ever since they rereleased peregrine falcons back in 1978. I’ve noted things like that, as well as how many times I’ve seen the bird and whether it’s a ‘lifer’ or not.”

  Morgan looked at the ranger. “What’s a ‘lifer’?”

  “A species I’ve never seen before in my life.”

  “Good idea, I’m going to remember that!” Morgan exclaimed.

  The group trudged on, heading toward a small grove of tall white-barked aspens. Ranger Charles pointed to the trunk of one. “See those holes? Those are what we call bird apartments. Last time I was here we saw different types of birds in each hole.”

  The group stared at the aspen, wondering what kind of dweller would appear.

  “Hey, look over here,” someone called out.

  In a field opposite the trees, three small birds were flitting about in some brush. The group watched them from a distance. “They look like pine siskins,” someone said.

  Ranger Charles focused his binoculars on the birds. “Yes, two of them are. But I think one is a green-tailed towhee,” he remarked enthusiastically.

  James heard a whistling sound. He quickly scanned the trees. The bird sang again, but James didn’t see it. “I wish I could recognize their calls,” James said.

  Ranger Charles turned toward the Parkers. “I have a book and CD that pairs bird appearances with their songs.”

  “That might be fun to get,” Mom responded, turning toward James and Morgan.

  Everyone spread out, continuing to search for more species.

  Dad took a second to gaze up at the bright blue morning sky. A few small, puffy clouds were scattered here and there. Like many summer mornings in Rocky Mountain, right now it looked like it would be a beautiful day.

  Soon Ranger Charles gathered the group together. They took a quick survey to count the number of species they had spotted: thirteen. “Sometimes, in June or early July, we see a lot more,” he informed them. “It’s nesting season then, and the birds are a lot more active.”

  The ranger pointed out some brown, oval-shaped droppings in the grass. “These are from the elk,” he said. “They were hunted to extinction here in the 1800s, but then, in the early 1900s, the park introduced a small herd from Yellowstone. That herd
grew to the much larger number we have here today.”

  “We saw some on Trail Ridge Road,” James said.

  “Yeah, they’re all over the park,” the ranger explained. “The problem is, the predators that once hunted elk, grizzly bear and wolves, are no longer around. And there are very few mountain lion. So the elk have no natural enemies. I often see them in my yard, in Estes Park.”

  Then Ranger Charles looked toward a mountain looming far above the rest. “One more thing before we call it a morning,” he said. “See Longs Peak up there?”

  The group gazed up at the massive mountain.

  “Notice the rock formation just to the left of it? To some, it takes on the shape of a beaver. An old Indian legend says that if the beaver ever makes it to the top of Longs Peak, it will mean the end of the world.”

  Everyone stared at the beaver-shaped rock just below the peak.

  “It appears that we’re all safe for today,” the ranger concluded. “Thank you for joining me on our little stroll. You are welcome to stay out here and keep birding or walk down this trail to the parking lot. And one last thought for you young folks.” He looked directly at James and Morgan. “I hope I have helped instill in you an enthusiasm for this outdoor activity. I know I sure love it.”

  The group clapped for Ranger Charles before he trotted off.