The Snowy Owl

The Snowy Owl

Long ago we had a picture of snowy owls in my house but I’d forgotten about it until a few of them migrated far south of their usual haunts this past winter, with one of them ending up only a mile or so from where I work.  Hearing about it, memories returned of my childhood and that picture.

After work one day, I walked where it had been seen, catching sight of a kestrel and a couple of coyotes but never a glimpse of the owl.  A ranger noted that one had been seen a few miles away in Boulder and perhaps the one I was seeking had simply moved on.  I returned the next afternoon but saw even less.  The coyotes were gone and the excitement of the chase I’d felt the previous day seemed dulled.  Along the way, I heard that the owl made an appearance five minutes after I left the prior night.  I guess that’s the way with wildlife…

The next day was a Saturday, and I planned to go back in the late afternoon, as that’s when the owl was being seen.  However, with the wonders of modern technology, there are now apps that allow people to record when and where they’ve observed rare birds anywhere in the world.  On a lark, I typed in “snowy owls” and “Colorado” and instantly a number of hits came up for that morning not where I’d been looking but at the Boulder Reservoir.  With a quick call, I learned that there were two of them hanging out in plain sight just down the road. 

When I arrived about twenty minutes later, an owl was there as advertised, perched on the boon of a sailboat beside the lake.  A second one was far out on the ice accompanied by number of bald eagles in what looked like a rather unpleasant stare-down.  Of course there were scores of people checking the spectacle out with their cameras and scopes.  It isn’t often that a snowy owl makes it down to Boulder, after all. 

I ended up spending a couple hours there watching the birds, and chatting with some of the others.  One woman described the spectacle of sandhill cranes along the Platte River in Nebraska, where several hundred thousand spend a month fattening up during a break in their migration to Alaska and Siberia.  She talked of prairie chickens and sage grouse doing dances in an effort to woo one of the ladies.  Her tone was filled with the sort of passion that I might have once exuded describing a climbing trip to the Tetons.   I realized that although I’d journeyed west into the mountains hundreds of times, I’d never once taken a road trip into the plains to the east.  For me, the lands between the Appalachians and the Rockies were always an obstacle to pass through on the way to more interesting places, never a destination.

With spring break approaching, I figured that a brief foray out into the plains might be possible to see these amazing wildlife events.  I broached the idea to my daughter who is busy trying to rack up the required hours of driving to earn her license.  If we threw in a horseback ride, she was game.  My son had a test for his degree and so it just ends up being a father daughter adventure.

Of course, this is supposed to be a tale of climbing not birds.  Before the trip, a quick image search of the area revealed several impressive buttes including Courthouse and Jailhouse Rocks, the first dramatic topographical features that thousands saw on their passage along the Oregon Trail.  So with thoughts of wildlife, horses, and buttes, we set off across crystal clear Eastern Colorado, slipping under a bank of clouds with our entry into Nebraska. The cranes were as dramatic as described, even though we stayed clear of the birding epicenter of Kearney.  There was a herd of wild turkeys and a large flock of starlings that almost appeared to be on the verge of murmurations.  The Sand Hills were gorgeous, especially as the sun poked out through the clouds while the greater prairie chickens did their dances in the late evening light.

On the final day of our trip, we descended from Alliance to the town of Bridgeport and got our first glimpse of Courthouse Rock.  It seemed anticlimactic leaving the Sand Hills and driving miles down to a feature whose summit was far below us when it first came into view but then again, at the Black Canyon, the parking lot is the summit and it has the best climbs in Colorado.

I wouldn’t say that about Courthouse Rock, but the view of it and Jailhouse Rock from their base was truly spectacular with their proud forms jutting up into the crystal clear skies.  But this wasn’t the Himalaya or even Colorado, and the access road ended only about a third of a mile from the summit.

After chatting with another visitor for a few minutes, we ascended a few feet to where things got steep.  The tower has four distinct cliff bands that must be passed to reach the top.  The trail passes the first using a series of holds that were apparently chipped out of what might be considered rock.  The way isn’t particularly difficult, but the spaces between holds provide a bit of interest for my daughter.  The second band is passed using a narrow chimney.  Despite my years in the mountains, I have never encouraged my son or daughter to climb given how many stories of these places end with tragedy.  As a result, we spend some time as she learned the technique of chimneying but then pressed on to the third band which is the crux of the route.

Unfortunately, the easiest line involves stepping onto a narrow ledge undercut by empty space and then grasping a cracked hold of dreadfully soft rock.  The consequences of a fall from it would be either devastating or fatal and I couldn’t stop thinking of what a terrible parent I’d be to lead my daughter into such risk.  I dwelled upon what I would have to tell my wife if my daughter were to slip.  It’s different somehow when your child, not you, are the one at risk.

I was terrified that she would choose to attempt the line.  Given what I’ve done and where I’ve been over the years, I’d feel like a blatant hypocrite to stop her and yet my thoughts kept returning to that imagined conversation with my wife.  Fortunately, with a solid dose of common sense, my daughter decided that she had no interest in attempting the move and I breathed an immense sigh of relief. 

Of course, I then begged my daughter for a few minutes of her time to complete the route.  I’ve been doing this stuff for decades and I used that excuse as justification to continue but maybe I was just being hypocritical after all.  Stretching to a second hold that backed up the cracked one, I then scampered to easier ground and past a minimal fourth band to the narrow summit.  The view down to Jailhouse rock was fabulous, as it was across many miles to Chimney Rock, perhaps the most dramatic geological feature in the state. 

I kept wondering, though, were my fears the same that my mother and father had felt whenever I journeyed off into the wilds?  Probably, but it’s a little late to go back thirty-five years and alter my life.  I guess that I have to thank my parents and wife for their patience and understanding as I’ve followed my passions to distant and jagged corners of the globe.  I also have to acknowledge that I’ve always had a selfish side that brings considerable anxiety to those closest to me.

Carefully, I reversed the moves to rejoin my daughter and we both return to the car refreshed, but still I dwell on the anxiety that I’ve caused my loved ones over the years. There were a few more places that we visited on our return: Chimney Rock, Scottsbluff, and Panorama Point, the highest spot in the state, which we saw as the sun sank low against the horizon to the west.  However, it seemed as if figurative summit of the trip was actually those few minutes that we’d dwelled on the soft sandstone of Courthouse Tower.  It’s hard to imagine that such a vertical adventure could be had in a state renowned for being so flat.

Later, after returning home, I made a You Tube video of the birds and the buttes; the first one that I’d ever personally produced.  I’ve never been much of a cinematographer.  Usually I end up turning the camera sideways or shaking the thing far too much for intelligible results but the cranes were amazing and the light on that last day mesmerizing.  I’ll post it at the end here.  It’s a bit amateurish but western Nebraska is gorgeous nevertheless.

Chimney Rock