HMS Beangle

Back before we even arrived at the National Forest Service’s fee station on our last camping trip, we stopped for breakfast at one of our favorite restaurants, The Shaggy Sheep. After helping us sop up the coffee that I carelessly slopped across the table, our waitress mentioned that her friend says she’s never failed to see a moose at Jefferson Lake. Awesome, no? Then the NFS gate attendant said that ‘Mamma Moose’ had been seen that morning. That was pretty exciting because a Mamma suggests a Baby. Even better! Driving by, we noticed that each campground has a sign declaring, “Welcome to Bear Country” with tips on how to store food safely. And with the summer’s high temps, we knew that the elk herds were browsing up in the high country.

Perfectly good alpine meadow; no elk seen.
(Although we believe we heard a few elk bugling to each other.)

All sorts of yummy cooking smells; no bears seen.
(You just know the person who invented this specific style of fire ring made a fortune.)

Nutrient rich beaver pond; no moose or beaver seen.
(But we saw a lot of proof that beaver are very active in the area.)

What we did see plenty of were towering storm clouds, dense black clouds, flat grey and green clouds. They built and roiled and flew across the landscape every afternoon. We had an hour or two of rain on Friday, none on Saturday despite the excellent collection of starter clouds below, and a mother of a storm on Sunday evening.

It rolled in after our quick supper of leftovers, just as we got a proper fire going. We quickly put everything away and hopped in the trailer to relax while it blew past. Only it didn’t blow past. It raged on from about 7 PM until around midnight. Luckily our campground was up a slight hill from the road, because at one point a river seemed to be flowing down the back side of our campsite and through what had once looked like “a nice place for Jessica to set up a tent.” Poor woman can’t get a break with us even when she’s not camping. We watched our blazing fire suffocate.

Lightning crashed and flashed. Wind screamed. Trees rocked. The sky turned green, then orange, then black. Then the hail started. We laughed because ‘What else can you do?’ and relaxed into the chaos. Without any cell service, we had no idea how long the storm would last. Around midnight, when the rain had ceased, I braved a trip to the toilets, using a flashlight to avoid the biggest puddles in the tire tracks. When Jeff went out a few hours later, the road was nearly dry. Life in a desert.

Our campground, Lodgepole, is covered in its namesake trees, and it’s easy to see why people used (and use) them for log cabins, shelters, and lodges. In a landscape so relentlessly buffeted by storms and rocky ground so devoid of nutrients, it’s impressive how tall and straight and strong they grow. They’ve adapted to what life throws at them, like we all must.

We loaded up the following day and stopped back at The Shaggy Sheep for breakfast. Seriously, it’s that good and they’re remarkably accommodating when it comes to dietary issues. While chatting with a fellow diner at the bar, we learned about the devastating fires that had broken out at the Grand Canyon and at the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. It sounds like both were due to lightning storms like the one we’d ridden out the night before. We haven’t been to either National Park yet. It breaks my heart to know that when we do finally visit, we’ll see only a shadow of their former glory. Fire is a natural part of the forest habitats here in the West. I know that. Accepting that doesn’t make such losses easier.