Tag Archives: sunset


3 Feb

The other day I found myself dating things “2014”.

It took three people reminding me that 2014 was but two years in the past, for me to kick the habit and leap forward into the present.



Though we are only a month in, 2016 has already proven to be jammed packed with love, laughter, adventure, and of course, Colorado sunsets.

Always Colorado sunsets.

CO sunset



back in action, but first a month worth of photos.

22 Sep

A Summit Cove sunset


Grays and Torreys trailhead


Mayhem and Rome soaking up the sun


Summit of Grays Peak


Fall at the Summit


Summit of Torrey’s Peak


Mayhem at the summit of Grays Peak…first two 14ers!


Grays Peak views

11953318_10102534699329098_5233616539164908872_o (1)

Paper Birds/Hall and Oates at Red Rocks




Summit Cove strolls


brother/sister bonding in Erik’s new ‘hood


Paper Birds/Hall and Oates at Red Rocks


Torreys Peak

shades of night.

7 Jan

I walked outside after work this evening thinking Abbs and I could take a stroll.

It had been a beautiful day. One of those winter days where bright blue skies, still air and hot sun almost trick you into believing that March had arrived two months early. That Winter had already delivered his worst; already covered the fir trees and rivers in a sheath of snow and ice and that March had arrived, like a knight in shining armor, to melt away the chill that had taken up residence in the inhabitants of this rough and tumble mountain community.

Abbey and I wandered down to the river, moseying and picking our way carefully through the crusty, knee-deep snow. I reached the bank and stopped for a moment, letting the sound of the rushing water envelope my senses and when I lifted my eyes, I was greeted by the very beginning of what would end up as a spectacular Rocky Mountain sunset.

I unzipped my jacket pocket in search of my phone so I could capture the orange clouds as they streaked across the still blue sky, when I realized that I had left my phone on the kitchen counter.

The slightest of waves of disappointment washed over me when I realized that my bragging rights had taken a dig, but the sky held me captive and I knew if I turned away to get my phone, the moment would be over and my opportunity to reawaken my senses would disappear in a flash.

So I stood there, with Abbey beside me, and watched in silence as the sky moved from orange to peach to magenta to violet, reaching a crescendo as the snow-capped peaks were painted in a rosy glow of pinks and purples. Ice lining the river’s edge, framing the river rocks in a halo of what could easily have been lace, cradled a reflection so clear that it was as if Mother Nature were modeling her prom dress in a mirror.

As the sun sank lower below the Continental Divide and the sky grew darker, the oranges and the pinks and the violets took on an ashy hue, announcing the arrival of Night and the promise of yet another beautiful day in the Rockies; another day whose beauty could inspire even the most cynical of shredders.

the blue.

17 Sep

I have found that the late evening sun has developed a tricky scheme that is bound to lure me out.

Sure there is work to be done and dinner to be made, but it beckons to me with velvety colors and a chill in the air that caresses my skin and lifts my hair.

Yesterday evening we decided dinner could wait and we meandered in the midst of a cloudless sky, following The Blue as it wound its way along Highway 9, through quaint mountain neighborhoods and lush soccer fields awash with fire engine red Icelandic Poppies.

It traipsed past Town Hall, bubbling around the library and alongside the Pavilion. It drifted in and out of the woods rushing over displaced rocks, pooling in beaver ponds and tickling the ankles of the fly fishermen as they lost themselves in the gurgle of the water and tug of their line.

Sure there was work to be done, dinner to make, emails to write and boxes to unpack; but tonight, we meandered.


the blue

the peruvian chronicles, day 3

7 Jun

“Oh, it’s just the Peruvian Flats,” explained Ricki, one of our fearless leaders, as he pointed towards the summit of Salkantay which sits at a modest 20,574 feet above sea level. 

I looked at him doubtfully, my brain lurching at the irony of his statement, and then cast a glance at the clouds that seemed to be closing in on us in a somewhat menacing manner.  

“Oh, and expect rain at the top. It rarely snows up there,” he said nonchalantly, as he pushed back from the breakfast table and strode down the stairs to prepare himself for the eight mile hike up and over Salkantay Pass (elev. 15,213).

After spending much of the previous day doing our best to dodge whipping rain and howling wind, it was decided that garbage bags were imperative in keeping our belongings rain free. So we swathed ourselves in big, black garbage bags, draping them over raincoats, over gloved hands and in some cases, for those whose boots had proven to be less waterproof than advertised, over socked feet inside boots. 

Similar to the day before, we began our trek amidst a deep fog. A fog that was so fluid, that it seemed to be alive. It floated and undulated through the air, cradling us in its soft, wet arms before dropping us into torrent of wind and rain.

 A climb of 2,522 vertical feet, before lunch, was the crux of our trek up through the “Peruvian Flats”. A climb that featured 12 hairpin switchbacks, a rocky, muddy trail that became slicker and sloppier as the morning wore on, trains of mules lead by weathered porters in sandals (?!?!), and a cocktail of Gatorade and Clif Shot Bloks that were passed down our line from leader to porter like a sacrament. 

We weren’t the only ones enveloped in the mist and rain. The monumental glaciers that stood sentinel over the valley were shrouded in clouds, casting only the briefest of glimpses of their mighty peaks out to their waiting public. 

“13,000 ft!” shouted Steve as he ever so dutifully reported the altitude at 500′ increments to the group.

And as though Steve’s report of 13,000 feet was an sign for the heavens to open above us, the mist and the rain turned to snow.


Now as many of you know, I live in the land of the snow. And don’t get me wrong between the months of October and April I live for snow; heck, I have a tendency to be a bit of a powderhound when conditions permit, but once May 1 rolls around Mother Nature and I are in a month long fight, which tends to see me on the losing side. That said, I was mildly impressed that Mother Nature’s snow curse had hopped continents to find me.

I shot Ricki a look that plainly said, “no snow, huh?” and he shrugged his shoulders and offered me a bewildered smile. 

As we rounded the last bend of the upward trudge, at about 15,000 feet above sea level (officially 780′ higher than I have ever been), towering cairns became visible through the dusty white snow that was swirling through the cold, wet air. 

“213 feet to the top of the pass!” announced Steve, as if on que.

We trudged onward with a renewed sense of determination. Another 213 feet and the rest is all downhill!

A round of cheers exploded out of The Garbage Bag Brigade as a sign proclaiming, “Abra Salkantay”, appeared through the sea of white.

“We’ve made it to the top of Salkantay Pass!” exclaimed Pepe, “How about a snack?” he questioned, a trace of a grin curling in the corners of his ever smiling mouth.

Pictures were taken, hugs were shared and high fives and pats on the back announced the excitement and relief felt by the group. 

We had summited our Everest. 

As promised, the rest of the trek was downhill. It snowed until we fell below 14,000 feet where cows grazed on rocky outcrops that merged with leafy green ferns and hot pink and yellow wildflowers. 

Our next lodge sat at 13,900 feet, right on the brink of the entrance to the palatial glaciers guarding Salkantay Pass and the Amazon jungle. Shortly after we arrived, the clouds broke, offering The Garbage Bag Brigade the chance to shed their black, plastic layers and gape at the mighty peaks towering above us. 

Mother Nature approved. We had passed Salkantay’s test and the deep jungle greens mingling with the stark grays and whites of the glaciers and the late afternoon sun casting a pinkish, blueish glow upon the landscape, was our reward. 


a blaze of color.

8 Apr

Colorful Colorado.

I always found it a little bit ironic that as you cross the border into the eastern most part of the state of Colorado, you pass a sign proclaiming “Colorful Colorado!” with great enthusiasm. What’s ironic about this proclamation is that as you drive through the plains and sand flats of eastern Colorado, you are surrounded by varying shades of brown.

Sandy brown. Chocolate brown. Dusty brown. Rusty brown.


It’s not until you reach the foothills, just west of Denver, that you begin to catch glimpses of the deep reds, leaden grays, rich greens, and vibrant blues that make up the rugged terrain. As you follow I70 west through the front range the colors change, allowing your mind to wander; twisting, turning, imagining the stories told by the colors on the hillsides.

A rusted, old truck laying claim to a now decrepit gold mine whose sign declares the vibrancy of a life during its heyday.  

A waterwheel slowly spinning, bathing itself in the steady stream of icy blue water pouring from the edge of a rocky cliff. 

Slight, yet robust, orange and pink and yellow blossoms blooming among a harsh, unforgiving precipice.

Rocky outcrops frosted in pure, untouched snow. Snow that provides a guise to innocent bystanders, admiring the awesome regality of the Rocky Mountains.

And as the sun drops, slowly, just below the peaks; the landscape’s vibrancy is toned down. Down to muted, dreamy variations of the original colors. It’s then, in that jewel-toned moment, that the colors of Colorful Colorado come alive. 


garden of the gods.

3 May

Guys, I think I might have a new favorite spot–although something tells me that narrowing down my favorites is going to get trickier the longer I call the Wild West my home...

On Monday a few of us Keystone Lodge and Spa kids ventured southeast out of Keystone for a day of exploring Garden of the Gods. And fit for the gods it is. Holy cow. What an incredible place. Donated to the city of Colorado Springs back in 1909 by Charles Elliott Perkins‘ children, the public park (free entry!!) is known for its spectacular rock formations that were deposited horizontally in their original form, but were tilted to a vertical position during the “uplift of the Pikes Peak massif”. 

We spent the day exploring sheer rock faces, admiring rocks perched upon rocks, perched upon other rocks, absorbing the vibrant purples, blues, greens, reds, and browns that made up the landscape, and embracing the hot sun and 75° (spring!?) weather. Somehow during our meandering we managed to miss the infamous “Balanced Rock“; however, we took a wrong turn on the way out of the park and came across the rock just before we exited onto the highway. Cool looking, but they cemented it in place several years back due to tourists trying to push it over in an attempt to test their strength, so that took away a little bit of the ambience for me.


On the way home, we decided to the take the scenic route through Manitou Springs, around Pikes Peak, and up over Hoosier Pass. Just before we hit Fairplay we came across this incredible panorama; the perfect example of desert flatlands blending with high alpine terrain. 


The diversity of the landscapes that you encounter throughout the great state of Colorado never ceases to amaze me. From high deserts, to lush evergreen forests, to frozen tundras, the beauty (and power!) of Mother Nature is epic. I truly hope that I never become desensitized to the incredible aesthetic of my surroundings.

The Shameful Sheep

shit storms, shame, and stories that make you cringe


hacking health, designing life

Where's my backpack?

Romancing the planet; a love affair with travel.

Jeep Accessories

Latest Jeep News


The low down on what's good in Denver, CO.

The City Girl's Guide to the Wild West

Taking Summit County one ski hill at a time!

Swanning Around

[Verb] swan·ning - to wander around aimlessly in search of pleasure

Peaks and Passports

Chronicling my adventures in the Vail Valley and beyond...


Oahu hikes

this is... The Neighborhood

the Story within the Story

Myblog's Blog

A topnotch WordPress.com site


Media Informasi Masakan Khas Prancis dan Cara Bikinnya

Girly Camping®

It's Not Just For Boys...

A lifetime's exploration

A photo-diary of my travels and top tips for each location

Miracle Corporation

Nothing But the Best