How learning disability led us to Colorado is a story that begins with possibility, friendship, ski slopes, and a daughter called Jen. But this particular chapter starts with three kayaks and a step ladder…

A paddle for three in 3 kayaks certainly appealed.  Why not?  What could be better on a scorching day in the Rockies?  What we hadn’t appreciated was the significant effort and determination that was required of 3 people and a step ladder to achieve getting two sea kayaks onto, and secured, on the roof of the sturdy Toyota.  Abortive attempt number one was followed by abortive attempt number two, followed by……… success!  Happily the requisite paddles and kayak 3, a natty folding Hobie had ample room in the boot.  Mission accomplished!

The month of July presented Malcolm and me with the most incredible opportunity to spend real time in a place we love, in an environment we can’t better, in the company of people we value and respect deeply; friends for over 20 years who have vision and insight, who see and experience the complexities and challenges of life as it presents; to us, to Jen, to Anthony, to society at large.

Shadow Reservoir proved to be a wonderful haven for wildlife who know no fear of man.  We are not their predator.  After prepping and launching from the bank with minnows darting around our feet, the plentiful and spectacular rewards started to unfold – individual ospreys holding court on the tops of multiple trees, more damsel flies than I have ever seen at once created a mesmerizing light show skimming just above the water and congregating on single pieces of drift wood with blue lights blazing, cormorants diving, white pelicans cruising overhead spotting their dinner, a slithering snake, chattering chipmunks, and standing stock still at the waters edge, a bull moose and a calf.  We too glided to a halt.  In awe.  Mother nature had bidden us into an immersive experience the likes of which we’d be hard pressed to even imagine.  All we had to do was to put in the planning, and the effort to be there.  And dare to let go of the bank.

Why do you walk?

Why do you walk?  I can hear him asking so clearly.  I bemused my father on many fronts, but this was a perennial.  Why do you walk?  For countless reasons.  The glaringly obvious include physical exercise, protected time with those I love whether family or friends, the opportunity to be in the great outdoors to breathe fresh air, not to mention being far removed from everyday life ruled by the demands of devices, meetings, household chores, the multiple challenges of family life or charity work, or even creating space from the pleasures of creative writing whether for myself or for others, sailing or even making music.  It’s fair to say that I walk at least as much for what I escape from as for the countless benefits I derive.  Invariably I choose to walk without my phone.  Perhaps my bemused response should have been ‘Why don’t you walk?’

Leaving Planet Earth is a phrase owned and honed by the locals of Fraser, Colorado.  They are right to hold it with pride.  Once you’re aware, you see it everywhere.  Isn’t that the beauty of local knowledge, that ’well, of course’ moment.

We’ve tasted towering peaks of the Continental Divide, backpacking and wilderness camping by secluded lakes deep in the forest reflecting the peaks above, endless drifts of wild flowers, boulders larger than houses.  We took on and accomplished the four mile straight uphill slog to the saddle at Devils Thumb, and on another occasion to the summit plateau of Byers Peak  which we finally gained after a seemingly interminable number of false summits and a rocky scramble.  It delivered in the most beautiful way.  It was expansive with 360 degree views at 12,804feet, complete with an inquisitive chipmunk trying many times and failing to be brave, but the unexpected bonus was the wind, or rather the lack of wind at the top allowing countless varieties of butterflies to flutter everywhere creating choreography that only nature could devise.  Both were unexpected.  Both at height after significant effort.

Yet he asks ‘Why do you walk?’

We’d anticipated the uphill slog which was relatively easy at a relaxed pace, but we weren’t anticipating the onward less onerous route to be almost devoid of markers.  An occasional cairn confirmed others had been there before.  Bush wacking had not been our plan, but with liberal amounts of hoping for the best, consulting GPS, we finally emerged at our destination, where a white Toyota provided water and sustenance.  It was exhausting.  Not the route but the lack of clarity.  So often we had to decide whether to go on or go around when no obvious path presented.  There we were, out in nature, on our own with no phone signal, loving the experience and the rewards, finding a route as best we could.

This is our life.  This has been how we’ve always lived.

Other days of priceless beauty at lower altitudes saw us in the cut in the forest that is Jimmy Creek where there is still enough cascading water to drown out all except the shrillest of birds, bearing witness to the evidence of nature struggling in drought conditions as we walked on a carpet of fallen green pine needles under firs in distress, with many a spruce seemingly growing from or on rock faring better than most.

Or stretching our legs with backpack readied for wild camping listening to the bird song, to woodpeckers, and arriving at Columbine Lake in the Indian Peak Wilderness, complete with permit to stay overnight pitching our tents anywhere that appealed, filling our water bottles from the babbling streams which thankfully still coursed into the lake.

Reservoirs are depleted.  This is the nature of this season following the meagre snowfall last winter.  The peaks of the front range are bare.  So many days we watched as beyond the towering mountains, the cumulous clouds with their billowing tops laden with moisture toppled over time and again reaching ever higher, only to amount to nothing.  No deluge.  No downpour.  Not even any moisture to replenish the stricken flowers, grasses and trees gasping to survive which in turn maintain the habitat for insects, butterflies, mammals and birds, and man.

We consider ourselves very fortunate to have a foot in the valley of Winter Park, Colorado.  We use it for skiing with Jen but had never before visited in the summer so this July we decided to make good and spend a full month there.  Our mindset has always been to share opportunities, good fortune, learning and knowledge, so if Winter Park piques your interest, with or without our studio, please do get in touch.  For us it is a repository of sublime beauty with many and varied activities beckoning, all in the great outdoors.  A huge bonus this summer proved to be the music – in Cooper Creek Square, in Hideaway Park, at the base, on the mountain, and further afield too.  In fact you could fill your days with music alone!

Standing on top of the world

Nothing can compare to my dream destination.  The Continental Divide itself.  So often I have looked across from the ski area to the Ute trail, a well-known Indian trail and yearned to be there.  Not to walk up to, but rather to walk along the ridge.

This year we’ve achieved it with support from a much valued friend who understood what it would mean to me.  With the help of her sturdy high ground clearance truck and careful driving she navigated the way carefully avoiding  the worst of the pot holes and ruts in the road which make it impassable for any normal vehicle, though achievable by cyclists made of stern stuff.

Back in 1904 Rollins Pass, the Railroad at the top of the World was a feat of engineering.  The railroad complete with trestle was built to ferry intrepid people of  Denver up to the Divide to escape the punishing heat of summer.  The hotel sited at 11660feet is now in ruins with sections of corrugated roofing spread over a wide area but unlike today, it used to be a snow sure destination.  Back in the day some stone was reclaimed and taken back down to Fraser to build new homes.

Other days we’d enjoyed being at one with Mother Nature in the forests, wild camping, the streams, lakes and several hikes to gain height both on and off the Divide.  But this was my ultimate dream coming true.  This is my version of therapy.  It wasn’t very long and arguably only lasted a couple of hours due to the dark encroaching thunder clouds but with 360 degree vistas the norm, standing on top of the world absorbing views of jagged curved precipitous ridges running away beneath you, pristine air quality even when compared to Winter Park or Fraser at a mere 7000feet, stunted diminutive flowers hugging the ground and dramatic drop offs, we spent the entire time allowing every sense to soak up this offer which had been handed to us.

We feel totally humbled to have had the support to experience yet another wonder of nature whetting our appetite to do more, inspiring us to keep fit, and giving grist to our determination to keep going.

How can we be so lucky?

Yet again we ask, ‘How can we be so lucky?’   As is so often the case, Jen is the answer.  Jen’s disability made us reach out to others, to research where in the world to find appropriate skiing tuition for her where Anthony too could pursue his new found love of snowboarding.  Through Jen we met Beth.  Over very few seasons Beth taught Jen to ski.  Over a period of decades they became ski buddies, and Beth a friend of every family member. We enjoy similar activities, love to share opportunities, are open to the Art of the Possible, and above all remain curious as to why – why do people think as they do, act as they do, behave as they do?  Why do they bow to common assumptions and preconceptions?  This commonality has led to a deep and personal relationship I wouldn’t trade for the world.

Back from the US, we regrouped, then hopped on the motorbike for a few days in the Peak District before heading south to collect our grandchildren for a holiday in France.  There’s never a dull moment!

If any of this resonates, we’d love to hear from you.

Sue