Arrived here at 8,050 feet elevation this afternoon to find greening willows and snow banks.  The forecast is good and the Front Range is fabulous and completely snow covered across the eastern skyline. 

Yesterday we made a short drive from Montrose to a campground along the Colorado River just east of Grand Junction.  Then in the late afternoon we drove up a glorious winding canyon lined with red walls of the peculiar Mesa Verde sandstone, honey-combed with pockets and forming occasional shallow caves with flat floors high on their walls.  Further south the Anasazi Indians built towns within such caves, using the isolation provided by the cliffs for defense.

The sky was clear and the temperature 81 degrees F. when we left the river.  The road took us up into the Grand Mesa and eventually out of the canyon and upon it.  We climbed and climbed from the sagebrush desert into pinyon and juniper woodland, then through groves of bare aspen, and finally through forests of spruce and firs.  There several feet of snow carpeted the forest. 

Reaching the elevation of 10,000 feet we began logging stopping places in our GPS unit so we could find them in the dark.  We made a walk and found only a few rugged birds giving their spring song.  Among them were the cosmopolitan American Robin and the spritish Ruby-crowned Kinglet.  Then we drove down a plowed side road and uncovered an open lodge.  There was a two person staff there for mud season, but that meant we could leave our supper of sandwiches in the cooler and enjoy bowls of hot chili and a brew.  We chatted with our hosts about owls.

Then we left at dusk to begin our rounds.  We parked at the first location and waited for the stars to come out.  We nodded and listened to robins chuckle.  Then I heard a short series of soft hoots and my mind sharpened to listen to a second series.  I shook Anne and we left the car but heard no more rounds there.  But, at our third stop a Boreal Owl exclaimed its presence repeatedly and we cheered and kissed.  Another bird down.  We hoped for a view but didn’t get it.  The bird became quiet again.  Too late in the season for it to bother to approach a potential rival. 

The temperature was now 32 degrees and I drove carefully to avoid black ice and fallen rocks on the road.  Still, we returned to camp at eleven o’clock.  Past our bed time certainly, but not by much. 

Today was a longer drive from the western plateau section of Colorado to the heart of the Rockies.  I-70 is a magical highway with stacked opposing lanes winding alongside the Colorado River.  We have followed it almost to its source.  More Colorado magic to come.