Pawnee Buttes

We're most definitely on our way home now and could, if we pushed it, be home in a couple of days. Yesterday we arrived in Riverton, Wyoming and will be in Montana tonight. The face of spring keeps changing according to where we are: while it still included slowly greening trees in Taos, a multitude of birds and perennials pushing up shoots in Fort Collins where we spent the weekend, it presented itself more severely in the high plains we crossed yesterday on our way here: only the huge drifts left behind snow fences on otherwise mostly snow-free pastures and open range showed the amount of progress that has taken place. Words like 'winter storm warning' have started to appear on weather forecasts in areas we had hoped to pass through on our way home, so that we changed to a less beautiful but likely safer route: we will not drive through Grand Teton and Yellowstone this time. Still: the sun is shining in Riverton this morning, and how could I not be curious about a town with the grand name Thermopolis, about an hour's drive north of here? There is still much to see, and beauty can be found in the most unexpected places.

It's been a while since my last post from Bandelier National Monument, and I haven't yet written about our visit to Taos and the Taos Pueblo, but I think I'll leave that for the time being and move on to Fort Collins which we left yesterday. We had never been to Colorado, and since the son of Johann's cousin now lives there with his wife it gave us an added incentive. Colorado, 'the colourful state' (one of its nicknames) is indeed another jewel in the crown of states we have visited so far. The drive north from Taos along the scenic road through the mountains showed that time and again. Eventually we had little choice but to bite the bullet and plunge into the heavy traffic in Denver, but it didn't take too long until even a busy highway like the I-25 got less busy again. By the time we reached Fort Collins, about an hour north of Denver, driving was quite relaxed again.

Looking west from the back door

We didn't know anything about Fort Collins except that it was a university town with a population of about 150,000, and we were surprised to find ourselves in an almost rural area when we left the interstate. Wolfgang and Jill's house backs onto a wetland dedicated as a recreational area by the city, and we were entertained by a concert of red-winged blackbirds, ducks and geese, frogs and, at night, howling coyotes. In the morning we took a walk through this small paradise with its boardwalks and gravelly trails and found people enjoying the space walking their dogs, fishing and – judging by the tracks – horseback riding and biking. Yet this is only about fifteen minutes from downtown and the university where our relatives teach. What a perfect place to live!

Wolfgang presented two options what to do on Saturday to show us more of the area: go to the mountains to snowshoe or drive east to visit the Pawnee Buttes, both about an hour and a half away by car. While the mountains always beckon (me, at least) we both were not keen on seeing any more snow than we had to: there had been enough of it at home this winter, and we might well find more on the way home. No, this time it would be the plains. 

Remnants of Keteo's past

Hwy 14 led straight – really straight! - east, and Johann finally had opportunity to see bigger chunks of farmed land again. Irrigation is prevalent closer to Fort Collins where water is more plentiful, and we saw many freshly plowed (!) and then cultivated fields. Corn is grown for silage, big piles of it feeding dairy herds, cattle and sheep feedlots. To us it looked as if corn is grown continuously. We also saw stacks of large alfalfa bales. Further east it changed to strip farming: strips of winter wheat alternated with land left fallow. For Johann this was interesting because he first encountered this when he worked on a farm in Montana in 1973. In Canada this practice has become less common.

After about an hour's drive we passed through a cattle guard and turned onto a gravel road, following the signs for Pawnee Buttes. By now the landscape, flat as a table at first, had become more pleasing, at least to me: undulating, low hills gave the eyes something to sweep to and rest upon, and small outcroppings of rock in the short-grass prairie provided more variety. I love the muted colours, even at this time of year; strangely, the longing for lush green is missing for me here. A few forlorn-looking, long abandoned buildings reminded of a time when people were still living in the small town of Keota and these grasslands hadn't been so empty of human habitation. It was strange to see street signs where hardly any houses were standing any longer.

A small herd of antelope was grazing not far from the road. Curiously they gazed at us for a few moments before moving a little further away. With their cream-coloured coats with black markings they are handsome animals, and it was special to be able to watch them watching us. 

The road curved up a small hill, and suddenly the Buttes lay before us, rising like ancient buildings from the plains below. They are remnants of ancient plains that have eroded away, leaving the buttes standing in isolation. About 90m high they can be seen from afar, light in colour in the lower part, with steep sides, they are topped by harder, a bit darker material. A true landmark, they look impressive even from a distance. Wolfgang explained that they and in fact this whole area feature in James Michener's novel 'Centennial'. I read it many years ago but don't remember much of it. I will do so again now, the setting so fresh in my mind.

The parking area was surprisingly full for an area so remote and only accessible by gravel road, but it turned out to be a gathering of scouts, so that explained it. Hiking trails lead up to and around the buttes, a hike of 6 or 8 km, depending on how much of the surrounding badland-like gullies and ditches one wants to explore. We were just a bit early to see the diverse plant life; only here and there some new green growth was visible. Two or three weeks from now it will look quite different already. Some areas on and around the buttes are off limits in spring until the end of June to keep the nesting sites of raptors and other birds free from disturbances. 

The eastern butte was not subject to these restrictions, and supposedly it is possible to climb to the top accessing it from the north side. Johann and Wolfgang tried to find the right place to do that but failed. I stayed back and sat on a rock at its foot, happy to let the magnificent landscape, the vast sky, work on me. It felt as if time had ceased to exist, as if I should be able to see herds of buffalo roam these plains, the only sound the flute-like song of the meadowlark and the grass stirred by the wind. 

The wind had indeed become quite strong, and dark clouds were moving in from the west and north, threatening rain. We didn't linger much longer and made our way back to the car, richer by yet another experience.