|Bobbie tightens her shoelaces in preparation for the "toe jam" descent back to Lovely Ouray|
It's as peculiar and subtle as "love," how a quad curdling, anaerobic, toe jamming hike goes from "I'll never do that again" to "a favorite." Twin Peaks looms two thousand vertiginous feet above Lovely Ouray, and watches over our little Swiss Village like a primordial goddess. This seductive Siamese sentinel belched forth from molten goo some ten miles underfoot... a mere thirty million years ago.
Like any good seductress, Twin Peaks is a contradiction. She blurs the line between beauty and beast, pain and pleasure... good and evil. No free and easy pushover, Twin Peaks exacts her toll in blisters and blood. If the obligatory "sacrifice" pleases Her godlessness, you may consummate her climb.
A rather lengthy and tempestuous courtship preceded my falling in love with Twin Peaks; she could be downright abusive and I didn't particularly care for the "toll" she took on my body. But I kept coming back for more. I've had similar relationships, where the "quest" kept me interested as much as the "destination." Men and their "challenges;" is there anything more bewildering than our wretched compulsion to conquer, and subsequent yearn to move on? Sigh.
If ever there was a wanderlusted soul, it is I; "re-dos" generally excite me about as much as a dental appointment. But Twin Peaks was somehow different. I came to know her gradually, memorizing every inch like the back of my hand. To my astonishment, the familiarity of courtship did not breed the usual contempt. Must be love; it's about time.
It goes without saying; I've been seeing "other mountains." But Twin Peaks and I remain best of friends. I sit for hours on her Eagles nest summit, watching clouds muscle up with moisture and listening to the rumble of thunder's distant drums. I see the "other mountains," Courthouse, White House, and Hayden's apostles four... Uncompaghre, Potosi, and Abrams, rising from the Amphitheater's floor. Northward, a parched sea-valley fades into midday haze on my curve-of-the-earth horizon. Magically, Grand Mesa seems to float above it all... one hundred miles distant.
Spent; sated; my 360 degree circle of love complete, I notice ant-like cars off my boot tips... darting to and fro in search of Main Street parking... way, way, down in Lovely Ouray. I am completely and utterly immersed in Grandeur... near and far, high and low. Today, there is a God.
|Lovely Ouray, nestled in the bosom of her Mountain Mama. The Million Dollar Highway serpentines toward Red Mountain Pass... Silverton, and Durango.|
|White House Mountain... above and below.|
|Looking north... Grand Mesa's flat top mountain floats on the horizon like a pin on water.|
|The ever-colorful Blowout, and distant Courthouse Mountain|
|Sister Peak... but she's "adopted."|
|Hikers coming... and Grand Mesa, way down valley|
|On this day, Bobbie and friend Lenard join in|
|Mount Abrams... a classic pyramid. Maybe our next climb...|
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