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The Scottish Highlands of Colorado

It's easy to miss opportunities in Colorado because it is just too easy to be sucked into the stereotypical postcards, such as an alpine lake at the foot of mountains. Such things are nice of course, but when you've seen 'em, you've seen 'em.

To enjoy landscapes for any length of time you need to branch out into new directions -- something that takes more imagination on your part.  Besides simple laziness, a middle-class traveler has the additional problem that his entire mindset is geared towards being a mass-consumer; and scenery tourism is just one more form of bar-coded  "consumption" to him.

Most people, like me, also need to fight against a complacent surrender to "the medium is the message."  The three-dimensional attractions of the desert (or grasslands or ridgey hills) do not show up so well in a two-dimensional medium like photography.
The reward for this kind of cantankerous independence is a greater appreciation for what is on the western edge of the San Luis Valley. A normal windshield tourist might easily think, "Not bad. But it will never make the front cover of a glossy travel magazine. Therefore I must go to XYZ National Park in order to consume a more upscale brand of scenery."  But a horseman -- or his modern reincarnation, the mountain biker -- will fall in love with this topography. Even more, in a rainy spell, the decomposed granite geology keeps you free of ooze and muck.

 
 

One morning Coffee Girl and I were exploring the high BLM valley when I heard the screams of a coyote. Then it sounded like a dog. Can a coyote really be so polyphonous? Why wasn't I willing to consider the possibility of the eerie sounds coming from two separate animals?


The sounds came from fog-enshrouded cliffs. A low ridge in the foreground blocked the view towards the bottom of those cliffs.  But the setting affected me strongly, just as many movie viewers are probably affected by the scene in Rob Roy (1995), when the English soldiers, led by the villain, hunted down Rob Roy and his clan in the foggy highlands of Scotland.


I've hardly known any RVers in my 16 years in this racket who had any interest in bicycling, so the exceptions are worth bragging about. When one RV/cycling friend was taking a cycling tour of Scotland he said that the place would be jammed with tourists if it just didn't have such dreadful weather. Colorado, of all places, has been having Scottish weather the last few weeks. 

It hardly seems possible to feel a connection with Scotland from the vantage point of Colorado BLM hills. There is sagebrush here, not heather. But what matters is what James Boswell called 'the rude grandeur of Nature': the treeless openness, the unpopularity, and the fog.


Travel has changed so much the last couple centuries that you might be interested in what it used to be like. Consider the short and easy-to-read book by Samuel Johnson, Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland, free from Gutenberg.

Comments

XXXXX said…
Treeless openness, the unpopularity and the fog.
Three of my favorite things as well.

When humans fill the landscape with both their sight and many sounds, it's impossible to untether the imagination from its usual constraints and let the mind become as a wild and free horse of the prairie. If you have ever witnessed the moment that trail horses are unsaddled and unbridled and set free to roam the range until the next day's work begins, you would glory in their sudden transformation. They break gait, head and tail erect, spontaneously filled with a new energy. During the work day they are often head down and drearily putting in their day's work, but when the release comes, they burst forth with the extreme pleasure of total joy. Letting my imagination run free feels that way to me too.

To witness that which emerges from the fog is like the phoenix rising from the ashes. What was not known becomes known bringing with it a shift of knowledge. Many scripts have capitalized on this universal experience to add punch to their point.
Fog parallels the confusion that our mind often finds itself in. Walking out of the fog symbolizes the arrival of clarity.

Recently, on a trip to Utah, I looked up the childhood home of Butch Cassidy. Those around me nodded and glanced and then went on with their chit chat. I just don't get that response. I looked out the window and across the field, knowing he had certainly once been there, and in my mind's eye, I could see him.
Boonie, I grew up in the hills of NW Colorado, where my great-grandparents homesteaded. They were from Scotland, and they had settled there in 1904 partly because it reminded them of home.

I spent some time in Scotland, and there really are some similarities, especially between the Yampa Valley (my home in Colorado) and the Spey Valley (my ancestors' home in Scotland). When I was in Scotland, there were many times I had to remind myself I wasn't in Colorado. And I love that untrammeled feel, the solitude, and the wildness that both places have, though one has to go looking for it more and more.

Your blog really caught my attention and even made me a bit nostalgic, since I don't live in either place now. Both have an evocative feel to them, and since my ancestors were originally from the Highlands, maybe I have a bit of that topography in my memory somehow.
That it, today I'm putting in my application to become a Citizen of the Scottish Highlands of Colorado
"Fog parallels the confusion..." I like that sentence, George.

I would like to spend more time around horses and see the behavior you wrote about. Until then I'll just have to see dogs go insane when they are unsnapped from their leash.

I wonder if modern Americans would become rambunctious if they were given a chance to slip their leash. Actually, I doubt that they would.
Glad that this post got you into nostalgia mode. Also, I needed to be backed up on the claim of similarity.
edlfrey said…
...see dogs go insane when they are unsnapped from their leash.

Are you talking about me? - Patches
Jim and Gayle said…
We love the open spaces and solitude when we can find it. Although with our rig it is harder to do than I like.

We have a fantastic spot now but lots of idiots don't seem to realize we are camped here, not just parked, and drive up and park and proceed to sightsee. Yesterday 4 dirt bikers drove through our site between the two rigs and around the two cars.

Despite that the location has been worth it.

As to bikes, I have been wanting to trade my road bike for a mountain bike since we can't carry more bikes.

Regarding horses and mountain bikes. We still see too many horses. I can understand their excitement at getting the lard butts off their backs.

Jim
Yes, I'm talking about you, Patches!
I too have had young motor-crazed yahoos scream up to my site, do a donut, or rev their obnoxious machines. It helps to dwell on the fact that there are 24 hours in a day, and those noisy assholes only bother me for about 100 seconds out of the 86,400 seconds of the day: that's 1 part out of 800. I'd still like to shoot them.