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| Emerald Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park. |
Somewhere just past Bear Lake, the realization hit me.
My brother wanted to go to Boulder, Colorado. To do the hikes we'd done as kids and eat at the restaurants our mother loved, in what I dubbed our "Farewell Ma Tour."
I let him pick the trails. He chose wisely, starting along the Boulder River behind our parents' old place — where we'd walk to cool off from the inevitable arguments.
"On your left!" the cyclists cried as they blasted by. They train them well here.
Next day, Mount Sanitas: think, a mile on a StairMaster. That afternoon, we took an easy five-mile savannah stroll around the Boulder Reservoir — mostly alone.
Sunday, another five miles across the grasslands around Eldorado Mountain. Sweeping vistas and black cattle — bovine public employees, basically doing weed maintenance for the city of Boulder.
For our final day, the idea was to go out with a bang at Rocky Mountain National Park.
Not so easy anymore. Just showing up and going in is very 2010. You can't do it. The park went to a timed entry system in 2020. All the morning slots were gone. But my brother used his apex predator computer skills to find a secondary cache of available slots for Bear Lake Road.
People must forget beauty. Because even though I'd been to Rocky Mountain National Park many times, the wonder of the place struck me afresh as we slipped in precisely at our 8 a.m. entry time.
The parking lot was full. We had to take the shuttle bus. Crowds are considered the bane of national parks. Everybody complains about them, constantly. Me too.
"Hell is other people," I said, quoting Sartre, as we threaded our way along the trail.
It is a vigorous 256-foot hike from the trailhead to Bear Lake. You can do it in a wheelchair. Parks are designed this way: Put the best views close to the parking lot. The trail was a continuous stream of humanity.
It began to dawn on me: Whether the others are a blight or a benefit depends not so much on them, as on me.
Other folks are usually viewed as an intrusion on precious solitude, a disturbance of the beauty of nature that you've come so far to see. It only takes a little spit to spoil the soup.
Or ... you could consider them part of that selfsame nature.
The moms bearing their children literally on their backs, like possums. The dads giving pep talks to their tired, balky offspring — I tossed them nods of solidarity. The families, sullen teens, their faces set in "I'm not enjoying this, you can't make me" defiance. The world in hiking boots: Indian college students, Mexican families, prim Japanese couples kitted out in their pricey Mont-Bell gear.
My brother wanted to go to Boulder, Colorado. To do the hikes we'd done as kids and eat at the restaurants our mother loved, in what I dubbed our "Farewell Ma Tour."
I let him pick the trails. He chose wisely, starting along the Boulder River behind our parents' old place — where we'd walk to cool off from the inevitable arguments.
"On your left!" the cyclists cried as they blasted by. They train them well here.
Next day, Mount Sanitas: think, a mile on a StairMaster. That afternoon, we took an easy five-mile savannah stroll around the Boulder Reservoir — mostly alone.
Sunday, another five miles across the grasslands around Eldorado Mountain. Sweeping vistas and black cattle — bovine public employees, basically doing weed maintenance for the city of Boulder.
For our final day, the idea was to go out with a bang at Rocky Mountain National Park.
Not so easy anymore. Just showing up and going in is very 2010. You can't do it. The park went to a timed entry system in 2020. All the morning slots were gone. But my brother used his apex predator computer skills to find a secondary cache of available slots for Bear Lake Road.
People must forget beauty. Because even though I'd been to Rocky Mountain National Park many times, the wonder of the place struck me afresh as we slipped in precisely at our 8 a.m. entry time.
The parking lot was full. We had to take the shuttle bus. Crowds are considered the bane of national parks. Everybody complains about them, constantly. Me too.
"Hell is other people," I said, quoting Sartre, as we threaded our way along the trail.
It is a vigorous 256-foot hike from the trailhead to Bear Lake. You can do it in a wheelchair. Parks are designed this way: Put the best views close to the parking lot. The trail was a continuous stream of humanity.
It began to dawn on me: Whether the others are a blight or a benefit depends not so much on them, as on me.
Other folks are usually viewed as an intrusion on precious solitude, a disturbance of the beauty of nature that you've come so far to see. It only takes a little spit to spoil the soup.
Or ... you could consider them part of that selfsame nature.
The moms bearing their children literally on their backs, like possums. The dads giving pep talks to their tired, balky offspring — I tossed them nods of solidarity. The families, sullen teens, their faces set in "I'm not enjoying this, you can't make me" defiance. The world in hiking boots: Indian college students, Mexican families, prim Japanese couples kitted out in their pricey Mont-Bell gear.
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My daughter was camping in RMNP the past week, near Mill Lake. She ended her text with "It was beautiful and it was empty."
ReplyDeleteTurning 78 tomorrow. Still enjoy public places like the beach, parks, hiking, concerts, live music, ethnic festivals, museums, and the like. But I've reached the age in which dealing with crowds annoys me more than it once did. I still go, of course, but a lot of the fun is going away. and it's not the other people that make it hell. I make my own hell these days.
ReplyDeleteWe are early birds at events whenever we can do so, sometimes hours early. Then I try to get the best seat possible and...literally... turn my back on other people and try not to let them bother me so much. And then I won't be guilty as charged...snarking about random individuals and their appearances. Or bitching about the crowd size. Doesn't thrill my long-suffering wife. So why ruin it for her?
It's probably me, but not entirely. People in general are far less decorous than they once were. They engage in more boorish behavior. Loud conversations, often about sensitive or highly personal topics that are best kept private. Littering and other piggishness, especially where there's food. And then there are those ubiquitous goddam phones. People still jump up and take pictures of performances, and block views. They will even stand smack dab in the middle of a festival and take group pix or selfies, and force tightly-packed throngs to flow around them, like water around a rock. Asian tourists are particularly guilty of this. There, I said it. But it happens too often. Just saw it again today.
I understand the concept of timed tickets at a venue, such as at a museum. But the idea of timed tickets to enjoy natural wonders, and outdoor scenery, is total anathema to me. Yes, I will shuffle along at a Van Gogh exhibition, for instance. It allows everyone an equal opportunity to have a few seconds in front of their favorite artist, and his works.
But on a fucking trail? In a national park? That smacks of life in highly regimented and overpopulated places, like Japan or China. Takes every bit of enjoyment and spontaneity out of it. If that's the future...or, rather, the present, I guess I will be staying home a lot more. I've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. But not that way. Screw it.
The message of my column doesn't seem to have made much of an impression. I'd say swallow hard and go see the Grand Canyon. My wive didn't like Venice, because of the crowds. I liked it just fine. My thinking is: why let them spoil your time? It's a matter of perspective. Every time I go to Wrigley Field there are a bunch of other people there too. I never mind.
DeleteTraveling, in and of itself, gets more difficult with age. Again, that could very well just be me .Some people have no problems. But I now have health issues, and that made our last trip...to New Orleans...a rough one. Crowded planes. Worse than buses at rush hour (is there still a rush hour anymore?).
DeleteAnd there was also another catch: It was my first experience with air travel since 2012. Flying has gone to hell...now more than ever. And I know it wasn't just me. It was also the Monday after Thanksgiving. Are planes now always that packed? And the pitiful whining voice of a crabby old geezer is heard in the land.
I have always been struck by the number of international visitors I encounter at National Parks. I had the notion they appreciated our national treasures more than our own citizens. I did not travel this summer - I'm wondering if that has changed in Trump 2.0? A couple years ago we were at Zion Nat'l Park and the crowds were a bit much so on the 2nd day we went down the road to the Fairyland Loop Trail and had the trail to ourselves. Choosing the lesser-known trails that may require a drive out of the actual park is often the way to go. As Brunan points out (below) the Isle Royale NP is less frequented, as are a number of other national parks and national Wildlife refuges .The park service staff would be happy to help you find a less busy locale, but perhaps not one as close to OH.
DeleteOn another note, Grizz - how did things go with your cat?
Trump just signed something that will increase entrance fees for foreign visitors.
DeleteOnyx (so original, right? )is 15. Was diagnosed with cancer early in the summer. Only a matter of time. The meds for her vomiting have awful side-effects...mostly extreme diarrhea. Kitty puke is not a BFD. But three times now, i have had to stay up until 4 AM, because her aim is not what it used to be. And that's bad. Very bad.
DeleteThe last one stunk up the house. And I mean that litter-ally. The entire house, including upstairs. We love her, but caregiving a geriatric feline is tough. Been there before, several times. Meanwhile, the clock is ticking.
I was at a Brewers game last week the place was packed it's the type of experience I want to share with as many people as possible the energy the volume it's just so much fun.
ReplyDeleteIf I was there alone I don't know maybe it would be fun I've never had that experience but I've been in some pretty small crowds and it's a bummer
I've camped in the Smoky mountains several times and when there's a lot of people there it's kind of a bummer I remember looking for solitude and thinking the key is to go up climb less people are willing there's no water up there and I got to the top of the chimney top mountain and there were two people there reading a book I'm sure I bumed them out they weren't expecting anyone at 6:00 a.m. and neither was I but there's pretty much space up there and we found our little spot by 8:00 there were 50 people up there and it was time to head down through several hundred hikers all wanting that experience which I understand and they deserve it
My own little private places in New Mexico it's a 15 mile walk and I've walked farther there's nobody there ever
I always wished I had a brother.
ReplyDeleteI have a bit of claustrophobia. Suffice to say I don't like being stuck in a crowd. When I go to popular places that are crowded my first thought is to wonder why all of these tourists have to muck up the enjoyment of the experience. My second thought is that I am one of the tourists mucking up the experience. As is so often the case, the face in the mirror is the source of the problem at hand. Irony, the space between the atoms.
ReplyDeleteGreat message. I will be in CO by Thursday and at RMNP a week from today with our 10am timed entry - along with family that includes four young kids. Whoever else is there - I hope they will come away with the same sort of happy memories I am planning to bring back to IL on my return home.
ReplyDeleteWe go to a lot of live music & sporting events. We love all things outdoors, especially the State and National Parks. If you want fewer people one cool place is Isle Royale National Park in the middle of Lake Superior. Original fishing camps, wild moose and fox, a small restaurant/bar and some "dorm-like" accomodations, great hiking. That said, I agree tolerating the crowds is a challenge but I still think MOST people are respectful and strive to minimize their intrusion on others.
ReplyDeleteSome people certainly have manners and don't live like savages but I think most people are in their own little world and would push you into the geyser and just take a selfie while you boil to death
DeleteI hope at RMNP you were able to use your Senior Lifetime Pass, available for only $80 (plus $10 processing fee ). Such a deal!
ReplyDeleteGreat outlook, and one I need to more fully embrace when I'm out in nature. When I'm driving in holiday traffic, I try to take on the attitude presented in "there's no place like home for the holidays" ('from Atlantic to Pacific, gee the traffic is terrific"). And I feel a sense of camaraderie among fellow sports fans or folks in line for an amusement ride. I can even sometimes muster it when I'm in a TSA line. Striking up conversation makes the time in line go by faster.
ReplyDeleteBut when it comes to nature- I probably idealize Thoreau too much. I recognize that my perspective is within my control and I'm working on it. Prior to the covid lockdown in Spring 2020, my local forest preserves were fairly empty except for birders and dog walkers. I regarded my time alone in nature as part of a health routine: the Shinrin yoku and Solvitur ambulando, sort of thing. Plus, I was there to see and hear birds, which requires at least some tranquility.
It was a shock to suddenly have people holding conference calls on the trails while their dogs and children ran amok. Guys drinking beer at 11 AM on a weekday. Picnic tables taken up by folks on laptops. Multiple classrooms of children climbing downed trees, building forts and engaging in sword fights while their teachers (? teachers' aides?) obliviously scrolled on their iphones in the parking lots. I became grouchy. I grumbled that students were missing out on the perfect opportunity to learn about nature. That most of the "work business" I was overhearing was people trying to turf their work onto someone else.
I live along a flood plain and I prayed for rain. When we finally got a deluge, I gleefully took out my knee high muckboots and headed out. I was certain I'd finally have my "happy place" to myself. The trails were indeed muddy and forbidding. But I must have been stopped by 5 or 6 people that morning, all asking me where I bought my boots!
So yes, the days of solitude are over. But things have settled down, as well. So I am grateful. This column is a welcome reminder to frame my encounters positively.