While we were allowed a bit of extra sleep, we still decided to get up and out as early as possible so that we could be sure of getting parking up at Bear Lake before the lot filled up. Now that I knew the correct route, we entered the park a minute after 5:00, surprised to find nobody at the main entrance station to take our fees - or in our case, show our senior free entry cards. Driving the short extra way to the official "Bear Lake" section of the park entry station, we were rapidly followed by idiots with their high beams on. Outside was totally black, so I get using them when nobody is around you, but if you come up behind me with brights on, unnecessary because I'm already lighting up the road ahead, I'm now half blinded, and I slow down even further than the speed you consider it your right to travel at. One passed me despite a double yellow road stripe. The next one made it impossible for me to accurately see the road markings for the turn in before the second entry station, and I wound up starting in on the out lane. Fortunately there were neither a separation in pavement so moving over was simple, nor anybody exiting.
The Ranger was at that station, very friendly, and looked at the back of my camera display at the screen shot from my email confirmation, all he needed to let us through. Fortunately he delayed the vehicle behind me for long enough for us to totally clear his lights for the trip up the mountain. We pulled in to one of the handicap parking spots and waited. A few walkers were heading in, equipped with walking sticks, jackets, and flashlights. As I was interested in photography, we sat and waited, chatting. Apparently lots of others had the same idea I did as to when was a good time to enter. There was a sudden mass exodus from cars. Chilly as it was, I popped on my windbreaker with a hood, grabbed my camera, and went in.
It was frustrating getting the colors for the first 15 minutes, since light though it was, my camera still insisted on flash. The results were a combination of washout from flash and dark background. Then suddenly I looked up. The oncoming little clouds from over the mountain across the lake were a combination of grey and orange. Adjusting the camera for where it's light source was, I could fool it into registering the orange instead of its default sky = white. After several of those with different trees framing them, I looked down again and found the prize of the day. Do any of you "old" photographers remember the saying about the way to take good pictures? "F8 and be there!" With digital cameras I can't vouch for the F8 part, but I certainly had the "be there" part down pat! For about ten minutes the sun had risen enough to light up the far peak and light was easing its way down the far slopes, the orange part still very much there. But that wasn't the shot! The lake had turned orange! First it was near shore where the reflection reigned, then gradually farther away so distance shots took over, and finally more clouds glided over and killed it, even had the orange of earliest sunrise remained.
There was no way to top that! I returned to the car, elated. I'd not seen anybody else paying attention to the colors, just heading around the lake busily so they could knock one other task of their daily jobs list. I have a friend who says of my photos that I see things others don't. This was a perfect example.
It was time for us to explore further. With full light now, we could see the mountains around us were a combination of sharp jagged edges and rounded, carved bulges. It was an obvious glacially created valley. In fact the river heading down is called the Glacier River. At a pullout a short way down, I got out and climbed down a short path to an overlook. Steve told me later I freaked him out because if I fell or something there was no way he could do anything, including driving, with the pain meds he was on. He couldn't see the actual path, nor the crossbuck fencing near the edge of the drop, nor the stones sticking up in the path to stop a possible slide before it went more than a couple inches. He likely saw the pine twigs low on their trunks that I did grab just for balance in uneasy footing, but it didn't allay his fears.
Once at the overlook, straight across were sheared flat rock faces that had aged to orange, and below around a corner was a view of the river itself, loudly audible as it rushed over series of rapids. One spot provided an early bit of fall color - orange again, seemingly the theme of the morning. There was a path continuing along the safe side of the fencing, and of course, since obviously idiots needed them, signs warning not to lean on the fencing or go past it. It was only a hundred foot drop or so.
After returning to the car, we continued down to several spots where we were closer to the level of the river, with openings in the foreground so Steve could shoot from the car: rapids over and around huge boulders, in spaces between bends in its path, through deadfalls. One road into a campground crossed the river and we went in and shot next to the bridge. A little further a bunch of people were pulled over, out of their cars, staring and pointing up the mountain on the opposite side of the road. One couple had a camera lens so huge that she had to carry it while he took pictures with a different one. We asked, because this configuration of tourists always, ALWAYS, means a wildlife viewing, what was up there? A bear! But gone now, of course, and cars were leaving, waiting for us to quit blocking their way. Like the old saying goes, you just gotta be there. We weren't.
By this time, Steve's back was acting up so badly that he needed to go back to the motel and lie down. Since we had gotten the permit, we - or I - could enter again any time that day, not just our 2 hour window, because the ranger who checked us in gave us a special pink card for the windshield showing the date was covered. After over an hour lying down, Steve suggested I go back in alone, as he didn't feel like anything besides lying down. Maybe I even wanted to try Trail Ridge? We discussed the time I needed to be back so we could head out to meet his cousins, down the mountain and three towns away for pizza, and I headed out again.
This time the entry station was a full 10 minute wait while they had two ranger stations open funneling cars through. As soon as I got to mine, she just leaned out her booth window and with a smile said, "Welcome back," and waved me through. Once in I picked up my drive where we had left off, shooting interesting trees and streams, giving the dog a walk so she wouldn't be left in the car. That would be stressful enough later in the evening while we went into the restaurant. I got photos of a couple favorite spots, the kind where they are generally filled with cars and people climbing rocks, the kind where I'd have to wait long minutes for them to clear out so I could get my shot. The waits for them to clear were much shorter this time, which seems to show that the permit entry system is doing what it's supposed to. (It's still a major pain!) In the whole time I never saw the usual animals we see there. Last visit there were all kinds of elk, a mother and baby moose, a solitary bull moose, coyotes, and a bighorn ram on a cliff top. I did happen this time to catch a mediocre shot of a gray jay. There were the usual small squirrels, never in camera range of course.
As for Trail Ridge, I never made it up there. I haven't for years, since before I got my heart properly fixed. Last visit the trail was blocked off partway up. Thankfully it was the one spot which had restrooms. This time I only got to Many Parks Curve, the first major pull out. While I felt fine while there, though tired from the walk to and from parking, I'd felt a bit "off' on the drive up, and decided not to head further up. Not sure I could call it shortness of breath, but I didn't want it to get any worse. After hitting a couple other spots back on the low part of the park, I returned to the motel and Steve. That was when we decided we weren't leaving by heading out over Trail Ridge in the morning.
After a bit of rest, we headed down Thompson Canyon to meet for pizza. We all had a great time... except the dog. She wasn't allowed inside the restaurant, and sat in the back seat with the windows opened a couple inches. Temperatures were perfect for it. Heading back up the canyon it was dark and again we had issues with traffic with high beams, this time oncoming around curves. The curves were so short there wasn't time for me to turn mine on and then off again so as not to flash oncoming cars, even as a hint. I didn't understand anybody's need for them as the road is well provided with bright new striping and lots of reflectors on the sides. I put up with it as well as I could, but one particularly high pickup just had such egregious lights that I reflexively flashed my high beams it him just before he passed me. Yes, I know. I never do that. But this time I did. Mea culpa.
Of course we returned well after the elk herd had gone through, so it was just time for bed and trying to get a decent bit of sleep. And put the leftover pizza in the fridge for breakfast! We also had a gift of two loaves of bread, one peach, the other cinnamon swirl, generous on the cinnamon and sugar, also recommended for refrigeration just because. Bending the pizza box to fit the tiny fridge was a triumph of logistics.
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